THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Robert  Koshland 


A  JOURNALIST  IN  THE 
HOLY  LAND 


A  Venerable  Jew. 

{Sketched  at  Hai/a.) 


HaroM  Copping. 


A   JOURNALIST    IN 
THE     HOLY     LAND 

GLIMPSES  OF   EGYPT  AND  PALESTINE 

BY 

ARTHUR  E.  ^COPPING 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

HAROLD  COPPING 


FLEMING    H.    REVELL    COMPANY 

NEW   YORK       CHICAGO       TORONTO 
1912 


GIFT 

K5|J<u*d 


PREFATORY    NOTE 


HP  HE  following  narra- 
tive is  an  informal 
account  of  a  visit  to 
Egypt  and  Palestine. 
It  is  in  no  way  an 
attempt  at  producing  a 
guide-book  to  either  land, 
still  less  at  dealing  fully 
with  the  sacred  associa- 
tions of  them  both.  The 
author's  endeavour  has 
been  to  recall  what  he 
himself  saw,  and  to 
present  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  provide  a  book 
that  may  remind  travellers  of  their  own 
experiences,  or,  possibly,  stir  in  other  minds 
the  desire  to  look  upon  these  lands  of  un- 
surpassed interest. 


M893435 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    I 
What  Egypt  Looks  Like 

The  sunny  East — Impressions  of  Alexandria — A  striking  instance 
of  fair  dealing — On  the  way  to  Cairo — The  orange-vendor  and  the 
egg-exporter :  an  embarrassing  experience — A  venerable  landscape — 
Date-palms,  camels,  and  patriarchs — Using  the  Nile  by  jugfuls 
— The  sakieh  and  shadoof  at  work ....         pages  1-16 

CHAPTER    II 
Cairo  and  its  Wonders 

A  dazzling  city— Engaging  a  dragoman — In  the  golden  desert — 
The  pyramids — Arabs  whining  for  baksheesh — On  the  Great 
Pyramid  :  an  undignified  adventure  —  The  Sphinx  —  A  thrifty 
photographer — In  an  Arab  village — Deserted  homes  of  Mecca 
pilgrims — Mirth  turned  to  mourning  :  a  piteous  sight — Old  Cairo — 
The  Nileometer pages  17-33 

CHAPTER    III 
A  Mohammedan  Horror 

Dancing  and  howling  dervishes — Asleep  among  the  sugar-canes — 
On  the  Nile  by  starlight — Crocodiles  and  a  superstition — The 
Moharram  celebration — In  a  panic-stricken  multitude — The  people 
beaten  by  soldiers — An  awful  procession — Self-inflicted  wounds — 
The  Suez  Canal — Over-zealous  porters  at  Port  Said     pages  34-50 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER   IV 
Arrival  in  Palestine 

Fellow  voyagers — A  first  sight  of  the  Holy  Land — Jaffa  from  the 
sea — Going  ashore  at  Haifa — Meeting  my  brother — His  presence 
explained  :  an  artist  sent  out  by  the  Religious  Tract  Society — 
Impressions  of  the  town — Our  camp  on  the  shore — Dining  under 
canvas — George  the  waiter — Solomon  the  dragoman — Securing  our 
passports — A  surprise  in  the  dark — Guarded  at  night  by  armed 
sentinels — Sleeping  under  mosquito  curtains — Beetles  and  a  spider — 
Viewing  a  unique  collection  of  ancient  glass  vessels  .       pages  51-64 


CHAPTER   V 
First  Days  on  Horseback 

Four  horses  and  a  muleteer — Can  a  middle-aged  man  learn  to 
ride  ? — Why  some  people  never  go  to  Palestine — False  impressions 
accounted  for — A  digression  with  a  moral — My  lessons  at  a  riding- 
school — Drastic  tuition — What  it  feels  like  to  trot — Another  method 
of  learning — Our  departure  from  Haifa — The  serene  sea-coast — 
My  horse  bolts — How  he  was  stopped — Solomon's  reproaches  and 
scepticism — Caution  ill  rewarded  :  another  frantic  gallop — Luncheon 
on  the  sandhills — Mahomet  blames  the  bridle — An  undignified  way 
out  of  the  difficulty pages  65-82 


CHAPTER   VI 
Acre  and  Afterwards 

Our  transplanted  camp — Curiosity  sternly  repressed — Historical 
predecessors — Acre  at  night — Venerable  battlements — Peering  at 
murderers — Remarkable  rain — We  resume  our  journey — An  ac- 
complished muleteer — Our  guides  lose  the  way — Conflicting  advisers 
— Injuring  the  oppressed — A  hurricane  of  hail — My  lonely  stroll — 
Flowers  and  solitude— A  strange  meeting — Unsavoury  Shefa-Amr 
— A  message  from  the  Governor        ....       pages  83-98 


Contents  ix 

CHAPTER   VII 

Nazareth 

Luxury  in  barbarism — Domestic  life  in  a  tent — Loading  a  mule 
— The  Protestant  school  at  Shefa-Amr — Visiting  the  hill  tombs — 
Travelling  amid  birds  and  flowers — Wayside  friends — Looking  down 
at  Nazareth — Gentle-mannered  girls  and  boys — A  city  of  kindness 
and  smiles — The  leper — Mary's  Well — Primitive  carpenters'  shops — 
Distressing  pretensions — The  Protestant  Orphanage — A  missionary 
of  the  minority pages  99-112 

CHAPTER    VIII 
Galilean  Villages 

An  entrancing  panorama — Reineh  and  its  well — The  woman,  the 
pitcher,  and  the  baby — Cana — Acres  blue  with  bugloss — Flights  of 
storks — My  horse  goes  lame — A  loose  saddle — Kind  lads  of  Lubieh — 
A  wounded  bird — My  brother's  handsome  model — Wine-presses  cut 
in  the  rock — The  dead  lizard — A  howling  hyena — Why  the  men 
were  missing — Our  aggressive  defender — Menacing  appeal  for 
baksheesh — Jackals  and  mosquitoes         .         .         .  pages  113-127 

CHAPTER    IX 
Tiberias 

The  Sea  of  Galilee  :  a  superb  view — Horns  of  Hattin — The  ' * Five 
Loaves" — Walking  waist-deep  in  flowers— Tiberias  and  its  inhabi- 
tants— The  market-place — Finding  a  farrier — Our  camp  on  the 
shore — Visit  to  Hamman — Experiences  in  the  steaming  darkness — 
Tidings  of  a  tragedy — The  dead  girl  .         .         .  pages  128-139 

CHAPTER    X 

On  the  Sea  of  Galilee 

Our  voyage  on  the  lake — Snow-clad  Hermon — Shelter  in  a  vault — 
Sounds  from  the  shore — Bathing  in  two  temperatures — "  The  Place 
of  the  Big  Fishes  " — A  naked  fisherman  :  his  ingenious  methods — 
Dense  shoals  of  fish — Explorations  ashore — The  hospitable  fisher- 


x  Contents 

men — Minstrelsy  afloat — Wrecked  in  a  squall — A  ride  to  the 
Jordan — The  river  entrance — Companionship  without  words — 
Good-hye  to  Galilee — Scorpions,  adders,  and  tarantulas 

pages  140-151 

CHAPTER    XI 
Amid  Hostile  Tribes 

Water  tortoises — A  sullen  reception  at  Kefr  Sabt — Photography 
leads  to  friendship — An  ancient  Khan  —  Suspected  loiterers — 
Solomon  and  the  tadpoles — A  little  African  settlement — Mahomet 
and  the  piccaninnies — Mount  Tabor — Endor  and  its  unfriendly 
people — Simon  and  George  prepare  a  surprise — Banquets  in  the 
wilderness — Feverish  diplomacy :  Solomon  on  the  sick  list — Our 
visit  to  the  cave — Curious  optical  development — Sketching  under 
difficulties — We  are  suspected  of  witchcraft    .         .  pages  152-167 

CHAPTER    XII 
In  Issachar 

Nain — A  well  surrounded  by  flowers — "The  soup  of  the  shep- 
herds"— Aniseed  and  a  hailstorm — Eagles  on  Little  Hermon — 
Insanitary  Shunem — Its  inert  inhabitants — Inside  a  mud  house 
— Making  pastry  with  pease — A  line  of  hungry  sparrows — Mount 
Gilboa — Crossing  the  Plain  of  Esdraelon — Jezreel  and  its  watch- 
tower' — Children,  camels,  and  poultry — A  rainbow  across  the  blood- 
red  earth — Jenin — Visit  from  a  Turkish  official — A  medley  of 
noises — The  refreshing  incense  of  early  morning — My  horse's 
unrequested  jump — A  warning  and  a  bog — We  nearly  lose  our  horses 
—"The  Ditch  of  Joseph"         .  .  pages  168-181 

CHAPTER    XIII 

Samaria 

Paradoxical  Sebastiyeh — Architectural  memorials  of  Herod  the 
Great — Childish  adults — The  traffic  in  antiquities — Solomon  the 
virtuoso — Interrupted  excavations — Tomb  of  John  the  Baptist — 
An  undignified  schoolmaster  :  his  appeal  for  baksheesh — A  civilised 
dinner  amid  barbaric  surroundings — Its  disconcerting  sequel :  a 
deadly  snake  under  our  rug — Strange  uproar  in  a  peaceful  glen — 


Contents  » 

The  quaint  explanation — Our  encampment  at  Shechem — An  em- 
barrassed tobacconist — Uses  of  the  turban — The  kissing  child  : 
ingenious  method  of  securing  baksheesh  .         .  pages  182-198 

CHAPTER    XIV 
Russian  Pilgrims 

The  Samaritans — Visit  from  the  High  Priest's  son — Narrow- 
minded  Nablus — Solomon's  missing  tobacco-box — He  consigns  two 
boys  to  prison — A  disconcerting  discovery — In  the  Vale  of  Shechem 
— Gerizim  and  Ebal — At  Jacob's  Well — On  the  Plain  of  Lubban — A 
mile  of  Russian  pilgrims — Siberian  furs  in  Palestine  sunshine — Tea- 
pots and  simplicity — The  old  woman's  accident — Unseen  singers  in 
the  wilderness — Lamentable  condition  of  the  pilgrims — Bethel 
under  a  blue  sky — First  sight  of  Jerusalem   .         .  pages  199-213 

CHAPTER    XV 

Jerusalem 

Eloquent  rocks — Arrival  at  Jerusalem — Greetings  from  tourists — 
A  broken  spell — We  part  from  our  horses — The  hotel  point  of  view 
— Discordant  revelry — Visiting  the  bazaars — The  Pool  of  Hezekiah 
— In  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre — A  stone  worn  by  kisses — 
Weeping  pilgrims  :  a  thrilling  scene — Jews  at  their  Wailing  Place 
— The  Mount  of  Olives — In  the  Haram  enclosure — A  marvellous 
system  of  water  storage — The  site  of  the  Temple — Palatial  shrines 
of  Islam — The  Holy  Rock — Zion — The  Garden  of  Gethsemane — 
Lepers  and  venerable  beggars — Calvary  .         .         .  pages  214-230 

CHAPTER    XVI 

Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea 

Rachel's  Tomb — Bethlehem  and  its  people — The  Church  of  the 
Nativity — Bethany — The  Wilderness  of  Judaea — Inn  of  the  Good 
Samaritan — An  impressive  ravine — Hermits  of  the  precipice — 
Modern  • Jericho— A  plague  of  flies — Across  the  gorgeous  plain 
— The  Dead  Sea — A  walk  along  the  shore — The  reedy  Jordan — 
Ancient  Jericho pages  231-243 

INDEX P^8  245-248 


LIST   OF   COLOURED   PLATES 

FROM  ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS  BY  HAROLD  COPPING 

A  Venerable  Jew — Sketched  at  Haifa  Frontispiece 

FACINO    PAGE 

On  the  Voyage  Out — a  View  of  Smyrna  from  the 

Mediterranean  ......         2 

An  Arab  Boy  .......       32 

A  Jewish  Beggar    .......       64 

At  Shefa  Amr  .......       88 

Where    we    stopped    for   Lunch — between   Shefa 

Amr  and  Nazareth  .         .         .         .         .104 

Nazareth          .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .110 

From  our  Camp  at  Lubieh      .         .         .         .         .118 

Traditional  Site  of  the  Miracle  of  the  Loaves 

and  Fishes        .......     130 

The  Lake  of  Galilee      .         .         .         .         .         .140 

Mountain  side  overlooking  the  Lake  of  Galilee  .     152 

The    Caravan    Route    between    Jerusalem     and 

Damascus  .......     156 

xiii 


XIV 


List  of  Coloured  Plates 


FACING  PAGE 

Entbance  to  Cave  at  End  or — the  reputed  Cave  or 


the  Witch         .... 
The  Columns  at  Samaria         . 
View  prom  Jacob's  Well 
Stone  Wall  at  Bethel 
Jerusalem — a  View  of  Mount  Zion 
The  Wilderness  or  Judea 
Evening  at  Jericho 
On  the  Shore  of  the  Dead  Sea     . 


166 
182 
198 
206 
214 
230 
236 
240 


A  JOURNALIST 
IN  THE   HOLY  LAND 

CHAPTER  I 

What  Egypt  Looks  Like 

The  sunny  East — Impressions  of  Alexandria — A  striking  instance 
of  fair  dealing — On  the  way  to  Cairo — The  orange-vendor  and 
the  egg-exporter  :  an  embarrassing  experience — A  venerable 
landscape — Date-palms,  camels,  and  patriarchs — Using  the 
Nile  by  jugfuls — The  sakieh  and  shadoof  at  work. 

ONE  morning  I   awoke  to  find  the   engines 
going  slowly,  and   our  part   of  the   ship 
full    of    human    hurry 
and   of    voices    that 
rang     with     un- 
accustomed 
exhilaration. 
Going  up  the 
companion,    I 
emerged   into 
view    of    a 
dreamland 
solidly  real. 
We     were 

at  Alexandria,  creeping  to  our  moorings.     My 
western   eyes   now   for    the    first   time    beheld 


2         A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

the  East.  The  Mediterranean  had  been  just 
a  sea,  exhibiting  appearances  in  common  with 
the  Atlantic  and  other  vast  areas  of  water. 
But  Alexandria,  with  its  white  buildings, 
gleaming  domes,  and  placid  minarets — above 
all,  with  its  men  in  coloured  draperies — was  a 
new  world.  It  was  a  thrilling  revelation  of 
bright  hues  and  light.  The  sunshine  on  the 
sea  had  been  English  sunshine.  This  sunshine 
was  an  essential  part  of  all  that  was  foreign  in 
the  glowing,  exquisite  scene.  The  golden  light 
heightened  the  strangeness  of  each  strange 
object. 

Between  the  sun  and  this  first  sample  of  the 
East  there  was,  indeed,  a  palpable  relation.  I 
now  saw  a  city  specially  designed  for  sunshine 
as  its  ruling  experience.  To  put  the  case 
reversely,  I  now  saw  sunshine  in  a  human 
environment  appropriate  to  itself.  For  climate 
is  the  autocratic  architect  and  tailor ;  and 
England's  brickwork  and  trousers  are  dingy 
and  grey  in  obedience  to  her  wet  skies.  Lead 
is  the  appropriate  rain-resisting  roofing  for 
our  cathedrals.  As  appropriate,  among  the 
snow-white  buildings  of  Alexandria,  was  that 
solitary  dome  of  polished  emerald,  rich  with 
reflections — a  joyous  harmony  with  the  blue 
sky. 

As  the  liner  slowed  to  her  berth,  the  Egyptians 
were  upon  us  in  a  swift  confusion  of  row-boats. 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  3 

A  shrill  babel  of  angry  Arabic  (conceive  a 
company  of  perturbed  monkeys  and  parrots) 
marked  the  chaotic  competition  for  precedence 
in  boarding.  Early  arrivals  found  their  way 
temporarily  barred  by  an  officer  stationed  on  the 
gangway  ;  meanwhile  a  bronzed  athlete,  risking 
his  neck  in  the  name  of  business,  surreptitiously 
clambered  up  the  side  of  the  structure,  and  so, 
by  illegitimate  means,  reached  the  deck  some 
seconds  ahead  of  his  rivals.  A  minute  later  the 
vessel  was  alive  with  gowned  and  perspiring 
Easterns,  who,  shoving  and  upbraiding  one 
another  with  unlicensed  professional  jealousy, 
ran  barefooted  from  cabin  to  cabin,  in  a  fever 
to  seize  and  carry  the  baggage  of  shore-going 
passengers. 

In  this  situation,  so  rich  in  possibilities  of 
extortion,  complications,  and  lost  luggage,  I 
cast  a  spell  over  all  forces  of  mischief  by  asking 
for  Mr.  Cook — urbane  man,  speaking  every 
tongue,  awaiting  ships  and  trains  by  day  and 
by  night,  a  local  expert  everywhere — for  with 
this  ubiquitous  personality  I  had  (as  is  the 
wise  and  common  practice)  contracted  that  he 
should  be  my  porter,  banker,  and  guardian 
throughout  a  month's  exploration  in  Egypt  and 
Palestine. 

On  boarding  the  ship  at  Alexandria,  Mr.  Cook 
— polite,  alert,  and  with  muscular  natives  in  his 
service — had   but   one   anxiety,   to   wit,  that    I 


4         A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

should  feel  none.  I  pointed  an  identifying  finger 
at  my  two  pieces  of  luggage  in  leather,  with 
camera,  pith-helmet,  and  overcoat  indicated  as 
accessory  belongings ;  and  thereafter,  the  little 
troubles  of  travel  all  delegated,  I  confronted 
Alexandria  with  disengaged  faculties. 

Five  weeks  later  I  made  leisurely  acquaintance 
with  that  city — exploring  its  broad  thorough- 
fares and  byways,  and  penetrating  underground 
to  its  newly  found  corridors  of  tombs,  some  still 
holding  their  brown  litter  of  mummy  bones. 
But  that  first  day's  brief  drive  to  the  railway 
station  was  the  vivid  revelation  that  left 
memories  for  always. 

My  mind  was  filled  with  delicious  astonish- 
ment, and — let  me  note  as  a  delicate  property 
of  the  experience — the  strange  scene  largely 
owed  its  strangeness  to  being  familiar.  The 
canvases  of  artists  had  been  a  sure  preparation. 
Those  dead  fragments  were  graphically  borne 
out  by  the  living  whole.  House-fronts  light  in 
hue  and  structure,  patterned  with  delicate  fret- 
tings  and  angles ;  unscreened  arches  as  shops, 
stored  with  goods  rich-coloured  and  strange ; 
sluggish  and  sunny  human  life,  draped  in  white 
and  blue,— these  things  I  had  seen  before  in 
counterfeit,  and  was  the  more  uplifted  in  spirit, 
and  borne  on  the  wings  of  joyful  astonishment, 
now  to  behold  them  in  reality.  My  western 
soul  feasted   on   the   romance   of  the   East.     I 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  5 

went  amid  bright  wonders.  There  was  a  magic 
in  the  sparkling  air.  Alexandria  was  the  joyous 
realization  of  a  dream. 

And  so  into  the  train  for  Cairo — a  train  of 
corridor  construction,  and  pleasantly  unfamiliar 
in  some  of  its  outward  features.  But  it  was 
an  evidence  of  administrative  punctiliousness 
that  first  claimed  my  attention.  On  European 
railways,  when  a  passenger  travels  by  a  class 
superior  to  that  for  which  he  holds  a  ticket, 
it  is  usual,  if  the  circumstance  be  detected,  for 
payment  of  the  difference  in  fares  to  be  required. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF   MODERN  CAIRO 


6         A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

In  Egypt  the  amiable  logical  corollary  of  this 
practice  finds  acceptance. 

In  obedience  to  a  general  requisition  for 
economy  with  comfort,  Messrs.  Cook  had 
booked  me  second-class  for  this  small  section 
of  my  travels,  while  two  young  Birmingham 
engineers  with  whom  I  had  come  to  terms 
of  friendship  as  we  voyaged  in  company  from 
Marseilles — and  who  also  were  pushing  on  to 
Cairo  by  the  first  available  train — found  them- 
selves equipped,  by  the  pre-arrangement  of  a 
generous  employer,  with  tickets  entitling  them 
to  first-class  accommodation.  Prompted  by 
politeness  and  good  nature,  they  elected,  how- 
ever, to  join  me  in  my  compartment  of  less 
luxury — a  circumstance  which  inspired  the 
ticket-inspector,  when  he  came  our  way  and 
realized  the  situation,  to  a  sudden  departure  for 
the  booking-office,  whence  he  presently  came 
running  with  exchanged  tickets  for  my  com- 
panions, supplemented  by  a  handful  of  coinage 
representing  the  amount  by  which  one  fare 
exceeded  the  other. 

The  train  carried  me  into  a  landscape  dusty 
and  archaic,  with  an  occasional  date-palm  bold 
and  conspicuous,  and  with  clusters  of  habita- 
tions square,  grey,  and  primitive.  It  was  Africa 
and  old — it  was  Egypt  and  mysterious.  But, 
ravenous  as  were  my  eyes  for  this  banquet  of 
novelty,  a  passing  fancy  involved  me  in  human 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  7 

complications  which,  however  I  might  chafe 
under  the  sense  of  lost  opportunity,  for  long 
imprisoned  my  attention  within  the  four  walls 
of  that  crowded  railway  carriage. 

An  Arab  had  come  along  the  corridor  hawk- 
ing oranges,  and,  out  of  sheer  appreciation  of 
the  colour-harmony  formed  by  the  bronze  sales- 
man and  his  golden  wares,  I  had  proclaimed 
myself  by  pantomime  his  customer.  Our 
business  was  transacted  with  simplicity  and 
dispatch.  I  handed  that  noble  creature  an 
Egyptian  coin  of  perhaps  a  shilling  in  value. 
He,  in  return,  gave  me  more  oranges  than  I 
could  possibly  need.  In  a  word,  he  was  pleased, 
and  I  was  pleased ;  and  there,  one  might  have 
thought,  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 

But  in  the  quiet,  befezzed  stranger  seated 
by  my  side  Fate  had,  alas !  seen  fit  to  endow 
me  with  a  friend.  On  a  sudden  he  had  plucked 
my  Arab  by  the  arm,  and  was  pouring  into  his 
startled  ear  a  torrent  of  talk  which  it  needed 
no  knowledge  of  Arabic  to  identify  as  denuncia- 
tion of  a  severely  uncomplimentary  order. 

The  vendor  of  fruit  shrieked  his  denials, 
obviously  garnished  with  answering  slanders, 
and  for  many  feverish  moments  the  wordy  duel 
proceeded.  Then,  with  injured  mutterings  and 
a  painful  reluctance,  the  Arab  bent  over  his 
basket,  whence  he  abstracted  four  more  oranges, 
which  he  added  to  my  store  in  a  manner  that 


8         A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

filled  me  with  the  guilty  sense  proper  to  an 
extortioner. 

Meanwhile  my  neighbour,  now  with  a  face 
of  friendship's  smiles,  was  offering  me  polyglot 
explanations,  in  which  a  splutter  of  Franco- 
English  was  hopelessly  entangled  with  what 
was  probably  Arabic. 

Yar  .  .  .  thief's  of  fellaheen  ...  I  was  from 
Europe — oui  ?  .  .  .  a  traveller  to  be  robbed  .  .  . 
Ah  !  he  could  not  allow.  .  .  .  He  saw  ze  monee 
which  F  give.  .  .  . 

I  thanked  him.  Also  I  essayed  to  explain 
that  I  did  not  want  any  more  oranges,  and  was 
well  content  to  pay  the  Arab  liberally.  But 
where  two  persons  have  not  a  working  vocabulary 
in  common,  it  is  difficult  to  effect  an  exchange 
of  ideas,  particularly  when  there  is  no  sympathetic 
anticipation  of  a  thought  to  assist  its  reception. 
Thus,  as  was  easy  to  perceive,  the  only  part 
of  my  speech  which  reached  the  mental  target 
at  which  it  was  aimed,  was  that  in  which  I 
rendered  thanks.  With  eager  courtesy  he  waved 
my  acknowledgments  aside,  and  then,  suddenly 
readjusting  his  countenance  to  an  expression  of 
ferocity,  he  once  more  fell  upon  the  unhappy 
Arab. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  my  helplessness  I  per- 
ceived that  the  encounter,  so  far  from  being 
over,  had  merely  entered  upon  a  second  stage. 
Two  snakes  at  deadly  feud  could  hardly  have 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  9 

confronted  one  another  with  more  hissing  hostility. 
V^ainly  did  I  strive  to  stay  the  double  cataract 
of  personality  and  Arabic  expletives  (for,  as  I 
have  hinted,  the  general  purport  of  the  unknown 
words  could  be  apprehended  without  a  dictionary). 
Under  the  stimulus  either  of  what  he  was  giving 
or  receiving,  my  companion's  face  gradually 
assumed  a  lively  red  ;  while  the  Arab,  amid  his 
shrieking  protests,  ever  and  anon  turned  his  eye- 
balls upward,  as  though  asking  the  heavens  to 
witness  how  deeply  he  was  wronged. 

Even  while  the  din  was  thus  at  its  full,  I 
chanced  to  note  the  passengers  seated  not  two 
yards  away  on  the  other  side  of  the  corridor.  A 
grave  senior  raised  his  eyes,  but  only  temporarily, 
from  his  Arabic  newspaper,  while  his  fellows 
continued  to  peruse  the  world's  tidings  with 
impassive  faces.  I  reflected  in  amazement  that 
they  could  not  have  manifested  less  concern  if 
this  were  the  usual  way  of  buying  oranges  in 
Egypt — a  supposition  destined,  on  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  East,  to  prove  far  less 
extravagant  than  might  be  supposed. 

Once  more  my  defender  gained  an  advantage. 
For  the  salesman  again  stooped  and,  with  grievous 
lamentations,  surrendered  four  more  of  his  oranges 
into  my  custody. 

And  now  came  a  staggering  development. 
Blind  and  deaf  to  my  desire  for  peace  and  an 
opportunity  to  scrutinize  the  passing  landscape 


io       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

(accidental  glimpses  torturing  me  with  a  sense 
of  what  I  was  missing),  the  zealous  stranger 
thrust  forth  his  two  hands  and  began  to  plunder 
the  Arab's  stock-in-trade,  tossing  into  my  lap 
the  proceeds  of  his  ruthless  enterprise,  so  that 
my  Birmingham  friends,  seeing  me  rapidly 
qualifying  to  open  a  fruit  shop,  waxed  merry 
at  my  expense. 

As  for  the  Arab,  his  case  grew  critical. 
Waving  his  arms  in  an  ecstasy  of  passion,  he 
spat  words  of  vitriol  at  his  persecutor.  Then, 
suddenly  and  mysteriously,  he  scored.  The 
strenuous  guardian  of  my  pocket  was  as  one 
stung.  His  lips  and  eyelids  quivered,  the  whole 
man  a  prey  to  emotion.  Some  verbal  shaft, 
cunningly  envenomed  by  that  sore-tried  son  of 
the  desert,  had  gone  rankling  into  the  living 
flesh. 

The  unclean  dog,  my  wounded  companion 
confided  to  me  in  panting  speech,  had  cursed 
him  with  the  worst  of  all  curses  (a  disparaging 
allusion,  so  far  as  I  understood,  to  the  religion 
of  his  ancestors)  ;  and,  rising  wrathfully  from  his 
seat,  he  laid  some  proposition  before  me  with 
great  wealth  of  gesture  and  superfluous  volu- 
bility. For  in  his  exceeding  excitement  my 
friend  forgot  that  his  words  were  not  my  words, 
so  that  the  meaning  was  wholly  lost  upon  me. 
And  the  next  minute  he  hurried  away  down 
the  corridor,  while  the  Arab,  seizing  his  basket, 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  1 1 

made  off  with  equal  celerity  in  the  opposite 
direction. 

Nor  was  I  left  long  to  wonder  what  this  new 
turn  of  events  might  signify.  Anon  my  bene- 
factor came  hurrying  back,  every  line  of  his 
flushed  face  testifying  to  the  triumphant  exercise 
of  an  iron  will.  He  was  not  alone.  Behind 
him  strode  a  massive  military  man  with  sword 
and  epaulettes. 

Honouring  me  with  a  bow,  the  new-comer 
(who  looked  nothing  less  than  a  colonel  to  my 
civilian  eye)  said  he  understood  1  desired  that 
the  orange-seller  should  be  put  in  prison  for 
cheating ;  and  his  gracious  manner  seemed  to 
suggest  that  I  had  only  to  say  the  word  and 
he  would  cut  the  rascal  in  twain  with  that 
big,  bright  sword. 

It  was  an  anxious  position,  though  happily 
one  from  which  the  gorgeous  official's  fine  com- 
mand of  English  removed  the  element  of  chance. 
I  at  least  was  able  to  make  known  my  unalter- 
able will  that  the  Arab  should  be  left  at  liberty, 
though  the  pair  of  them  insisted  on  accepting 
me  in  the  character  of  a  magnanimous  English- 
man who  had  successfully  pleaded  the  cause  of  a 
thieving  villain. 

The  withdrawal  of  that  majestic  figure  in 
uniform  may  be  said  to  have  marked  the  com- 
pletion of  my  little  purchase.  But  1  was  left 
with  the  consequences  of  the  act.     It  dismayed 


12       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

me  to  reflect  under  what  a  load  of  obligation 
I  lay  to  my  painstaking  protector,  now  once 
more  seated  peacefully  by  my  side. 

I  offered  him  some  oranges — if  secretly 
conscious  of  a  motive  other  than  hospitality — 
but  he  politely  shook  his  head  and  indicated 
a  disinclination  for  the  fruit.  The  Birmingham 
lads  also  declined  my  proffered  bounty,  though 
in  their  case  the  refusal  was,  as  I  knew,  merely 
malicious,  and  arose  from  their  private  enjoy- 
ment of  my  embarrassment  as,  tightly  wedged 
in  my  seat,  I  had  perforce  to  engage  both  arms 
in  the  business  of  retaining  my  absurd  lapful 
of  yellow  globes  (how  willingly,  to  be  rid  of 
them,  would  I  have  given  twice  what  they  had 
cost !),  while  my  attention  was  at  its  full  stretch 
to  glean  some  fragments  of  meaning  from  the 
amiable  discourse  with  which  I  was  favoured  by 
my  neighbour. 

For,  conscious  of  having  done  me  a  substantial 
service,  the  gentleman  in  a  fez  had,  as  is  a 
common  sequel  to  kindness  with  impetuous 
natures,  entered  into  a  fraternal  sense  of  property 
in  my  personality. 

He  was  at  great  pains  to  tell  me  all  about 
himself,  his  family,  and  his  business ;  and,  so  far 
as  I  could  interpret  the  verbal  hotch-potch  with 
which  he  sought  to  counteract  my  linguistic 
deficiencies,  he  was  a  sort  of  African  Spaniard, 
who  gained  a  livelihood  by  exporting  westward 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like  13 

the  eggs  of  Egyptian  poultry.  He  seemed  a 
little  wounded  when  I  had  to  confess,  in  reply 
to  definite  questions,  that  in  my  comings  and 
goings  in  Europe  I  had  never  knowingly  seen 
any  of  the  goods  with  which  he  nourished  the 
peoples  of  that  region. 

In  response  to  an  eager  catechism,  I  had  to 
explain  as  best  I  could  not  merely  who  and 
what  I  was,  but  whence  I  came,  whither  I  was 
going,  how  much  I  supposed  my  journey  would 
cost,  whether  I  was  married,  and  many  other 
matters  apparently  of  vital  moment  to  the  egg- 
exporter.  Thus  much  more  time  ran  to  waste, 
for  the  obligations  of  courtesy  and  gratitude, 
fortified  by  a  sense  of  what  was  obviously 
expected  of  me,  forbade  more  than  an  occasional 
glance  out  of  window. 

But  at  last  we  came  to  a  station  where,  with 
many  cordial  farewells,  the  man  of  business 
alighted.     And  now  was  Egypt  mine  to  see. 

It  was  a  landscape,  not  of  grass  and  trees,  but 
of  dry  mud  and  greyness,  with  occasional  areas 
of  green  crops.  It  looked  like  part  of  another 
world,  and  very  old.  I  had  never  dreamt  to 
find  Egypt  so  Egyptian.  Here  and  there  one 
saw  the  people,  in  dark  flowing  draperies,  the 
men  bare-legged.  Upright,  impassive,  and  full 
of  grave  dignity,  they  moved  slowly  in  a  line 
along  the  roads  and  across  the  land — strings 
of  men,  and  women,  and  camels.     And  certain 


14       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

patriarchs,  bearing   long  staves  in  their  hands, 
rode  on  asses,  like  figures  in  a  dream. 

Moreover,  the  train  itself  being  invisible  from 
the  train,  there  was  no  sign  of  modern  Western 
influence.  Some  of  the  empty  land  was  faintly 
coloured  with  moisture,  and  the  wetting  of  it 
was  plainly  visible  as  a  great  national  industry. 
Those  picturesque  creatures — it  was  not  difficult 
to  realize — were  engaged  in  an  occupation  as  old 
as  history. 

Looking  out  upon  that  flat  and  venerable 
country,  I  strove  to  grasp  the  marvel  of  its 
water-supply.  Suffering  under  the  disability  of 
having  no  rain — or  none  worth  mentioning — 
Egypt,  one  might  suppose,  would  be  incapable 
of  growing  so  much  as  a  patch  of  potatoes. 
Yet,  as  we  all  learnt  at  school,  Egypt  maintains 
a  high  repute  for  agricultural  fertility,  raising 
impressive  quantities  of  wheat,  sugar-cane,  cotton, 
and  lentils.  And  it  is  all  done,  as  my  school- 
master tried  to  make  me  understand,  by  the 
annual  overflow  of  the  Nile — by  a  solitary 
and  protracted  fresh-water  flood-tide — by  a 
phenomenon  identical  with  that  which  lies 
behind  the  frequent  announcement  in  English 
newspapers,  "  Floods  in  the  Thames  Valley." 

For  if  Egypt  has  no  rain  of  its  own,  it  has, 
during  several  weeks  of  summer,  a  swollen 
river  of  borrowed  rain — rain  that  has  fallen  in 
tropical  torrents  three  thousand   miles  away  in 


What  Egypt  Looks  Like 


lS 


'OXEN   OR   BUFFALOES  HARNESSED  TO  POLES" 


the  heart  of  Africa.  This,  the  bath  water  of 
many  crocodiles,  is  cloudy  with  plant-forming 
particles  which,  when  the  floods  subside,  leave 
themselves  as  a  new  layer  of  the  rich  soil  they 
have  slowly  built  up  in  the  centuries. 

When,  seated  in  the  journeying  train,  I  came 
to  have  a  definite  curiosity  concerning  this 
matter,  we  chanced  to  be  passing  a  small  canal, 
still  and  muddy — doubtless  a  stored  streak  of 
last  year's  bounty.  The  simple  task  of  those 
dignified  Egyptians — some  with  their  naked 
brown  bodies  flashing  in  the  sunlight — was  to 
raise  the  water  a  few  feet  to  the  level  whence 
it  could  trickle  in  tiny  rivulets  over  the  land. 
They  attained  their  purpose  by  means  primitive, 


\ 


1 6       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

various,  and  picturesque.  Oxen  or  buffaloes 
harnessed  to  poles  walked  round  and  round  in 
a  monotony  of  patient  circles,  turning  a  large 
wheel  hung  with  earthen  jars,  which,  rising  full 
of  water  from  the  canal,  automatically  yielded 
their  contents  at  the  top  level,  and  pursued 
their  circular  course  to  scoop  up  more — this 
being  the  famous  sakieh. 

Elsewhere  the  shadoof  exhibited  against  the 
sky  its  conspicuous  lanky  pole,  a  man  easily 
manipulating  the  pendant  bucket  at  one  end 
because,  at  the  other,  a  rude  weight  counter- 
poised the  lever.  Still  elsewhere  sturdy  fellows 
stood  knee-deep  in  the  cloudy  liquid,  and  baled 
it  up  into  a  projecting  gutter. 


CHAPTER    II 

Cairo  and  its  Wonders 

A  dazzling  city — Engaging  a  dragoman — In  the  golden  desert — 
The  pyramids — Arabs  whining  for  baksheesh — On  the  Great 
Pyramid  :  an  undignified  adventure — The  Sphinx — A  thrifty 
photographer — In  an  Arab  village — Deserted  homes  of  Mecca 
pilgrims — Mirth  turned  to  mourning  :  a  piteous  sight — Old 
Cairo — The  Nileometer. 

/^AIRO  made  my  eyeballs  ache.  It  is  a 
^-^  city  of  coloured  splendour,  alive  and 
moving,  with  a  hundred  gay  pigments  astir  in 
the  sunshine,  and  every  thoroughfare  stuffed 
full,  as  it  seems,  of  processioning  and  pageantry. 
But  all  those  ribbons  of  tangled  prettiness  are 
but  the  everyday  pedestrian  traffic.  It  is  you, 
English  tourists  in  tweeds,  who  are  the  curiosity, 
and  how  dingily  discordant ! 

Of  my  first  walk  in  Cairo  a  vivid  memory 
remains  of  side  streets  old,  untidy,  and  wondrous 
picturesque.  In  one  I  had  to  tread  cautiously 
amid  little  communities  of  young  rabbits  and 
chickens,  the  unpaved  side- walk  suffering  further 
encroachment  from  the  presence  of  their  owners, 
a-squat    upon    the    ground,   patiently  awaiting 

2  17 


1 8       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

custom.  Later,  the  overtures  of  a  stately  Arab 
in  gorgeous  attire,  who  offered  himself  as  my 
guide,  occurred  at  a  moment  when,  having  just 
seen  my  Birmingham  friends  depart  by  train  for 
Assouan,  a  sense  of  loneliness  was  upon  me.  So, 
as  we  walked  together  awhile  in  that  dazzling 
wonderland,  I  promised  to  consider  his  suggestion ; 
and  next  morning,  on  finding  this  resplendent 
Eastern  haunting  the  portals  of  my  hotel,  I 
consented  that  he  should  conduct  me  to  the 
pyramids. 

We  walked  through  the  Cairo  of  official 
residences  and  wealth,  where  broad  thoroughfares 
planted  with  acacia  trees  gave  entrance  to  stately 
white  mansions — a  quarter  of  the  city  that 
savoured  rather  of  Belgravia  than  Egypt. 

Coming  presently  to  a  fine  bridge  spanning 
the  Nile,  we  crossed,  to  find  ourselves  in  a 
thoroughfare  through  which,  in  a  green  procession 
of  varied  zoological  interest,  the  produce  of 
agricultural  Egypt  was  in  transit.  There  were 
laden  carts  drawn  by  oxen,  followed  by  sturdy 
donkeys  thatched  with  sugar-canes.  Also  came 
many  a  moving  stack  of  clover  or  cotton,  whence 
scanty  details  of  a  camel's  anatomy  pathetically 
protruded. 

Hard  by  we  took  our  seats  in  a  smart  electric 
tramcar,  which  swiftly  carried  us  within  sight  of 
the  pyramids,  figuring  still,  solemn,  and  sub- 
stantial against  the  sky.     On  alighting,  you  pass 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders 


19 


by  an  ascending  sandy  road  through  a  fore- 
ground of  modernity — hotel,  post  office,  and 
antiquity  shop.  Thereafter  the  road,  losing  its 
semblance  of  solidity,  becomes  fine  sand,  yielding 
to  the  foot.  The  stone  boundaries  taper  to  a 
termination,  and  you  step  out  into  the  golden 
desert,  which  has  a  surface  of  broken  hillocks 
and  wavy  unevenness,  like  a  petrified  sea. 

Just  ahead  lay  the  Great 
Pyramid,  with  some  less 
exalted  counterparts 
looming  behind.  Like 
a  scattered  colony 
of  ants,  Arabs 
were  dotted  about 
the  sand — hawks 
eager  to  prey 
on  the  tourist 
pigeons ;  fine-looking  fellows,  who  worship  just 
the  one  thing — baksheesh.  They  are  perpetually 
praying,  quarrelling,  whining  for  it — they  will 
even  work  for  it. 

The  importunities  of  those  Arabs  are,  indeed, 
a  trying  supplement  to  the  unmitigated  sunshine. 
Usually  baksheesh  is  demanded  for  no  other 
reason,  apparently,  than  because  the  applicant 
would  like  some ;  but  occasionally  the  plea  will 
be  speciously  based  on  a  service  rendered — an 
unsought  and  undesired  service.  Thus,  as  we 
advanced  towards  the  Great  Pyramid  a  brown- 


20       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

skinned  impostor  ambled  ahead,  and,  with  many 
graphic  gestures,  pointed  out  the  edifice— lest, 
peradventure,  we  had  not  noticed  it — and  then, 
strenuously  demanding  payment  for  this  service, 
he  sought  to  emphasise  his  claim  by  plucking 
at  my  coat — a  liberty  that  prompted  me  to 
rebuke  him  in  terms  which,  if  only  he  had 
understood  them,  might  have  sown  seeds  of 
shame  and  penitence  in  that  bosom. 

I  calculate  that  if  I  had  given  a  gratuity  to 
every  bronzed  creature  who  asked  for  one,  my 
visit  to  the  East  would  have  cost  scarce  less  than 
a  small  battleship.  Happily  there  was  the  com- 
forting thought  that,  in  brushing  aside  all  these 
appeals,  one  was  assisting  to  build  up  national 
character.  Such  individual  effort  could,  perhaps, 
usefully  be  supplemented  by  instruction  in 
Government  schools,  so  that  the  younger  genera- 
tion might  grow  up  to  realize  that  begging  is  not 
quite  the  thing. 

Inherited  tendencies  notwithstanding,  there  is 
a  good  basis  to  work  upon.  For  those  Arabs 
carry  themselves  with  lofty  poise  of  head,  and 
there  are  rich  streaks  of  pride  in  their  nature. 
Thus,  even  on  a  first  day's  acquaintance,  my 
dragoman  was  careful  to  reveal  himself  as  a 
person  holding  several  titles  to  the  world's 
esteem.  The  son  of  a  sheik,  one  article  of  attire 
he  wore  cost  more,  as  on  a  careful  comparison  of 
prices  I  was  fain  to  admit,  than  the  whole  of  my 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders 


21 


AT  THE  FOOT  OF   THE  GREAT  PYRAMID.    MY  GUIDES 

wardrobe — a  discovery,  by  the  by,  on  which  I 
based  a  suggestion  for  some  abatement  of  the 
fee  payable  for  his  companionship  ;  thougli  on 
that  point  he  proved  unalterable.  Again,  this 
stately  Oriental  owned  broad  and  fertile  acres, 
besides  an  Arab  mare  of  prized  pedigree,  and 
fleet  of  foot  beyond  the  ordinary. 

My  climbing  of  the  Great  Pyramid  proved  an 
affair  of  which  the  countrymen  of  Earl  Cromer 
and  Viscount  Kitchener  have  no  occasion  to  be 
proud.  Of  the  thousands  who  have  essayed  the 
exploit,  I  did  not  hear  of  one,  man,  woman,  or 
child,  who  failed  quite  so  ignominiously  as  did  I. 


22       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

It  was  all  due  to  a  curious  oversight.  Standing 
at  the  base  of  that  mountain  of  man's  making, 
which  rose  to  the  sky  in  receding  terraces  of 
stone,  I  was  so  exalted  by  a  sense  of  the  capacity 
of  ancient  Egyptians  that  I  forgot  about  a  small 
defect  in  the  physical  equipment  of  my  modern 
self. 

A  group  of  four  Arabs  offering,  for  a  suf- 
ficiently moderate  sum,  to  conduct  me  to  the 
top,  I  consented  to  their  proposal  without  a 
second  thought ;  and  next  minute  we  began  the 
excursion  skyward  which  was  to  end  with  so 
little  credit  to  myself.  Mounting  from  stone  to 
stone  involves  some  tolerably  severe  stretching 
of  the  legs,  but  my  experienced  guides  selected  a 
course  which  took  advantage  of  all  easy  steps 
afforded  by  broken  masonry,  while  my  difficulties 
were  further  qualified  by  an  Arab  arm  stretched 
down  now  and  then  to  assist  in  hauling  me  up,  not 
to  mention  an  occasional  friendly  push  behind. 

Climbing  up  high  ledges  in  the  broiling  Sahara 
proved  very  warm  work ;  and  several  times  I 
made  respectful  suggestion  that  we  might  tarry 
awhile  by  the  way. 

"  Not  yet !  Not  yet !  "  responded  the  leader 
of  the  expedition,  and  in  a  manner  so  firm  that, 
hot  and  panting,  I  lacked  the  energy  to  oppose 
his  will.  But  at  last,  when  by  my  reckoning  we 
must  be  near  the  top  of  the  pyramid,  however 
high  it  might  be,  I  sat  me  down,  protesting  that 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders  23 

whatever  views  my  companions  might  hold  upon 
the  point,  I  meant  to  have  a  rest. 

"  But,"  exclaimed  the  Arab  in  authority, 
"  English  gentleman  not  gone  quarter  part  the 
way  !  Not  yet  a  long  time  is  the  top  of  the 
pyramid  !  Up,  up  to  go  three  more  times  than 
he  come  !  " 

Very  likely.  But  I  had  ceased  to  be  interested 
in  the  top  of  the  pyramid.  My  highest  aspiration 
now  was  to  reach  the  bottom.  Having  for  the 
first  time  looked  below,  I  had  gone  sick  and 
giddy.  The  depressed  perspective  had  refused 
to  get  into  focus,  my  brain  was  swimming,  and 
I  could  not  feel  my  feet. 

Now  came  the  tardy  remembrance  that  I  am 
not  endowed  with  the  capacity  to  scale  altitudes. 
There  returned  a  memory,  ten  years  old,  of 
crossing  a  plank  in  a  martello  tower,  when,  on 
gazing  down  at  a  heaving  chasm,  I  lost  authority 
over  my  limbs.  And  on  that  occasion  too  late  I 
remembered — as,  again  too  late,  I  now  recalled 
— a  boyhood's  escapade  of  going  up  a  ladder  to 
the  housetop,  where  I  awoke  to  sensations  of 
helplessness  and  terror,  and  narrowly  escaped 
a  catastrophe. 

With  shut  eyes  I  told  the  Arab  chieftain  how 
the  matter  stood — that  I  was  dazed  and  dizzy, 
and  that,  so  far  as  I  could  diagnose  the  situation, 
nothing  now  remained  but  for  me  to  topple  over 
and  descend  in  a  long  series  of  soft  thuds  from 


24       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

projection  to  projection  of  that  stupendous  stone 
staircase. 

!'  I  am  a  sheik,"  he  replied,  "  Sheik  Issa 
Abdoul!" 

Not  quite  seeing  what  that  had  to  do  with  it, 
I  opened  my  eyes  to  find  him  striking  an 
attitude  and  proudly  patting  his  distended  bosom. 

His  next  words  were  more  to  the  point : 
"  With  me  no  harm  anybody  can  take  !  "  and, 
in  view  of  the  healthy  optimism  of  this  sentiment, 
I  readily  overlooked  its  appalling  egotism. 

Sitting  on  the  stonework  by  my  side,  the 
Sheik,  inspired  by  that  hint  of  how  I  might 
descend,  spluttered  out  detailed  accounts,  very 
graphic  and  gory,  of  men  who  had  gone  down 
that  way.  At  the  risk  of  seeming  rude,  I  told 
him  that  his  anecdotes  did  not  interest  me. 
Then  he  spoke  of  "  other  "  distinguished  English- 
men (note  the  Sheik's  business  acumen)  whom 
he  had  escorted  up  the  pyramid.  But,  indeed, 
I  was  paying  scant  attention,  and  my  response 
bore  solely  on  the  problem  how  to  return  alive 
to  the  remote  sandy  surface  of  the  earth. 

"The  Englishman  is  not  afraid,"  cried  the 
Sheik,  with  expostulatory  palms  uplifted.  "  No, 
no — not  afraid  !  " 

I  begged  his  pardon.  I  was  afraid — nay,  as 
he  could  see  for  himself,  I  was,  as  some  of  my 
countrymen  would  put  it,  "  in  a  blue  funk." 

At  this  a  gladness  came  over  the  Arab,  and, 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders  25 

with  many  repetitions  under  his  breath,  he 
carefully  memorised  the  prized  addition  to  his 
English  vocabulary,  with  intent,  as  I  could  not 
doubt,  to  rap  it  out  upon  the  next  European 
he  escorted  aloft. 

What  was  of  more  moment  to  me,  he  removed 
his  turban  and  unwound  it  to  such  a  length  of 
folded  cotton  material  that,  after  tying  one  end 
round  my  waist  as  harness,  enough  remained 
in  his  hand  to  serve  as  reins.  For,  much  more 
scientific  than  dignified,  this  arrangement  was 
a  little  like  playing  at  horses. 

The  Sheik  holding  me  in  leash  from  behind, 
a  barefooted  Arab  was  my  escort  on  either  side, 
while  yet  a  third,  prepared  for  all  emergencies, 
went  in  front.  Thus  slowly  they  brought  the 
panic-stricken  Alpinist  back  to  mother-earth. 

Of  several  titles  to  my  esteem  won  by  those 
children  of  sun  and  sand,  not  the  least  concerned 
their  virtuous  forbearance  in  not  suggesting, 
when  I  quaked  helpless  at  their  mercy  on  that 
mammoth  monument,  some  expansion  of  the 
modest  payment  with  which  I  had  contracted 
to  reward  their  services.  And  when,  let  me 
bear  further  testimony,  I  supplemented  the 
agreed  sum  with  a  small  bonus,  their  gratitude 
was  gratifying. 

I  rejoined  my  patient  dragoman,  and  we 
sauntered  some  little  way  across  the  sandy 
undulations  until,  of  a  sudden,  I   beheld  that 


26       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

female  stone  thing  of  mystery  and  delight— the 
Sphinx,  battered  but  beautiful. 

There  she  stood,  clean  and  still,  in  a  smooth 
hollow. 

She  is  neither  large  nor  small.  For  her  creator 
was  an  artist  in  proportion,  and  remembered 
that  pyramids  were  near.  The  spectator's  only 
sense  of  strangeness  in  size  is  that  human  beings 
thereabouts  are  tiny.  When  an  Arab  clambered 
up  the  Sphinx  and  stood  beneath  her  chin, 
behold  an  upright  insect ! 

To  gaze  at  leisure  on  the  mutilated  beauty, 
I  sat  down  to  my  lunch  before  her — in  which 
lowly  situation  I  early  noted  large  black  ants 
busily  perambulating  the  sand.  Hafez,  my 
dragoman,  had  gone  apart  to  breathe  his  midday 
prayers  ;  but  I  did  not  lack  for  company.  A 
dozen  or  so  Arabs  collected  about  me,  and,  with 
patient  reiteration,  joined  in  an  earnest  but 
unavailing  request  for  baksheesh. 

Then  came  a  Western  to  sit  down  coolly 
beside  me,  and  this  on  the  strength  of  no 
more  acquaintance  than  arose  from  our  having 
journeyed  side  by  side  on  the  car,  and  exchanged 
some  talk  by  the  way.  I  had  then  learnt — for 
he  was  an  American,  and  greatly  interested  in 
himself — that,  a  schoolmaster  by  profession,  and 
having  a  mind  to  explore  the  world,  he  had 
contracted  to  supply  a  stereoscopic  company 
with   views   of  famous   spots   he   visited ;   thus 


'THE  SPHINX,   BATTERED  BUT  BEAUTIFUL' 


27 


28       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

utilizing  a  proficiency  in  photography  to  cover 
the  cost  of  his  travels. 

By  voyaging  on  a  cargo  steamer  in  a  capacity, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  little  removed  from  a 
stowaway,  he  had  made  his  slow  and  circuitous 
passage  from  America  to  Egypt  at  a  total  outlay 
of  £9  ;  and  he  plumed  himself  on  the  fact  that, 
in  a  back  room  of  an  obscure  street  in  Cairo,  he 
was  living  on  next  to  nothing  a  day. 

With  glance  fixed  respectfully  on  my  tomatoes 
and  cold  chicken,  he  now  asked  if  I  knew  where 
he  could  obtain  food  without  being  imposed 
upon  in  the  matter  of  price ;  and,  partly  by 
way  of  plumbing  human  character,  I  told  him 
he  was  welcome  to  the  bulk  of  my  lunch,  as 
in  that  hot  weather  half  a  roll  and  a  small 
tomato  would  serve  my  needs. 

"  Really !  "  he  exclaimed,  his  eyes  bright  with 
emotion.  "  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  very 
much "  ;  and,  lifting  my  laden  napkin  to  his 
lap,  he  fell  to  with  an  alacrity  suggestive  of 
a  fear  that  I  might  change  my  mind.  And 
the  wondering  Arabs  watched,  still  droning 
their  vain  appeal  for  pecuniary  assistance. 

Our  meal  over,  the  zealous  apostle  of  thrift 
bustled  off  to  his  camera,  where  I  presently 
noted  him  in  passionate  altercation  with  a 
picturesque  patriarch  holding  a  richly  capari- 
soned camel.  Presently  my  late  guest  came 
hurrying  back  with  a  moving  tale  to  unfold. 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders  29 

Desiring  that  venerable  man  and  beast  as 
foreground  accessories  to  his  view  of  the  Sphinx, 
he  had  planted  his  tripod  in  a  situation  to 
capture  their  images  in  a  happy  relation  to  the 
monument ;  but  the  wily  old  Arab,  scenting  the 
scheme  ere  time  sufficed  for  its  accomplishment, 
had  not  merely  withdrawn  with  his  quadruped 
from  the  lens's  field  of  vision,  but  had  obstinately 
declined  to  return  thither  until  a  money  payment 
was  promised  him. 

Finding  reproaches  and  appeals  alike  unavail- 
ing, the  stereoscopist  had  at  last  been  reduced 
to  discussing  terms — which  had  given  occasion, 
as  I  could  well  believe,  to  a  lively  exchange 
of  conflicting  ideas  ;  and  now,  having  gotten  the 
ancient  down  to  his  lowest  figure  (which  also 
I  could  well  believe),  the  schoolmaster  came  to 
me  with  a  business  proposition. 

I,  like  himself,  had  a  camera,  and  I  doubtless, 
no  less  than  he,  would  wish  the  man  and  camel 
in  my  picture ;  so  what  did  1  say  to  sharing 
the  payment  ?  That  my  assent  took  a  load 
off  his  mind  was  attested  by  the  nimble  gait 
in  which  he  went  off  to  pose  the  models  how  he 
wanted  them  ;  and  next  minute  we  were  releasing 
our  focal-plane  shutters.  1  took  three  views, 
and,  as  though  blindly  emulating  that  pattern  of 
thrift,  I  took  them  all,  as  was  afterwards  to  be 
revealed,  on  one  plate. 

When  my  dragoman  returned,  he  and  I  went 


30       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

exploring  tombs  and  dungeons  in  the  vicinity, 
and  anon  were  sauntering  in  an  Arab  village 
close  thereby.  White  flags  over  certain  doors 
bore  witness  that  the  faithful  had  gone  on 
pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  One  flag  hung  limp  and 
worn,  while  the  dust  of  many  winds  had  sealed 
up  the  entrance,  and  my  companion,  telling 
of  grievous  butcheries  on  the  road  to  Mahomet's 
tomb,  shook  his  head  dismally. 

Sufficient  population  remained  to  lend  interest 
and  animation  to  the  village.  A  group  of 
veiled  girls  were  so  gracious  as  laughingly  to 
tolerate  my  audacity  in  taking  their  photograph, 
while  a  few  bright,  brown,  naked  children 
followed  in  our  wake,  wondering   but  unafraid. 

Outside  the  village  store  we  found  an  evening 
group  of  gossiping  elders,  with  youngsters 
engaged  in  solemn  pastimes  ;  and  a  spirit  of 
leisurely  homeliness  entered  so  conspicuously  into 
the  assembly  that  I  was  moved,  not  merely 
to  pause  in  the  midst  of  those  people,  but  to 
proffer  them,  through  the  dragoman,  my  best 
compliments. 

This  friendly  overture  met  with  a  cordial 
response,  and,  chancing  to  cast  my  eyes  on  a 
male  infant  of  some  comeliness,  I  jestingly 
offered  to  purchase  the  little  creature  for  eight 
piastres  (say  Is.  l\d.  in  our  coinage)  and  carry 
him  away  with  me  to  England.  On  learning  in 
Arabic  what  I  had  been  pleased  to  propose,  the 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders 


3' 


company  gave  vent  to  bright  guffaws  that  needed 
no  translation,  and  whereof  a  further  chorus  was 
provoked  when  a  woman,  asquat  beside  the 
juvenile,  threw  back  at  us  some  answering  words. 

"  She  thank  you  vair  much,"  interpreted  my 
dignified  companion,  "  but  she  say  him  a  good 
boy  and  she  not  think  she  sell  him." 

"  Bravo  !  "  was  scarce  out  of  my  mouth  when 
that  happened  which  left  me  open-eyed  with 
astonishment.      Silence   and   a   new   spirit   had 


AT  THE  ARAB  VILLAGE 


32       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

descended  on  all  those  people,  and  with  one 
accord  they  went  hurrying  across  the  sandy 
arena,  and  passed  as  a  precipitate  procession 
into  an  alley  that  pierced  the  warren  of  little 
mud  homes. 

Instinctively  we  strode  after  them,  Hafez  to 
my  eager  questions  replying  that  some  one  must 
be  dead.     And  soon  he  had  the  facts. 

Several  days  before,  an  Arab  youth  of  that 
village,  walking  upon  the  carriage  road,  was 
run  over  by  the  brougham  of  a  Bey,  receiving 
injuries  for  which  he  was  taken  to  a  Cairo 
hospital.  News  had  just  arrived  that  he  had 
died  ;  and  at  once  the  wailing  relatives,  followed 
by  their  sympathizing  neighbours,  were  setting 
forth  to  bring  back  the  body,  that  they  might 
give  it  immediate  sepulture  in  the  sand.  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  bereaved  father  at  the 
head  of  that  sad  procession.  The  poor  old  Arab 
was  rending  his  garments  as  he  ran. 

When  presently  Hafez  and  I  passed  out  of 
the  village,  the  last  of  its  inhabitants  that  we 
saw  was  an  ancient  figure  in  rags  engaged  with 
feeble  hands  in  making  cakes  of  dung,  which 
he  set  in  the  sunlight  to  dry  for  fuel.  This  old 
man,  Hafez  told  me,  had  no  kinsfolk,  and  was 
very  poor. 

On  subsequent  days  T  became  acquainted  with 
some  of  Cairo's  many  wonders.  Superb  views 
leave  a  memory  of  countless  domes  and  minarets 


Harold  Copping. 


An  Arab  boy 


Cairo  and  its  Wonders  33 

shining  in  a  golden  perspective  from  the  Citadel. 
In  the  noble  Museum  I  found  Rameses  II.  as  a 
disrobed  mummy,  and  still  with  a  relic  of  yellow 
hair  attached  to  his  venerable  cranium. 

A  journey  to  Old  Cairo  (less  difficult  than 
going  by  the  "  Tube "  from  Chancery  Lane  to 
the  Marble  Arch)  transferred  me  to  a  region  of 
picturesque  and  malodorous  poverty,  whereof 
my  mind  preserves  the  hateful  picture  of  an  old 
woman  sitting  asleep  by  the  roadway,  with  flies 
resting  in  crowded  circles  about  her  inflamed 
eyelids.  Thence  we  took  boat  across  a  narrow 
stretch  of  Nile  to  Roda  Island,  which  proved 
full  of  the  quiet  spirit  proper  to  a  monastery. 
In  a  dank  chamber,  having  features  in  common 
with  a  tomb  and  a  well,  I  beheld  the  famous 
Nileometer — a  stone  column  with  measurements 
marked  off  as  a  constant  index  to  the  level  of 
the  river. 

Passing  through  irrigated  gardens  of  leafy 
shade  and  unfamiliar  flowers,  I  came  to  a  spot, 
marked  by  a  palm,  where,  according  to  Arab 
tradition,  Moses  was  found  in  the  bulrushes. 
To  view  the  site  at  better  advantage,  I  de- 
scended neighbouring  steps  and  walked  out 
upon  the  broad  stretch  of  dry  Nile  mud. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  Mohammedan  Horror 

Dancing  and  howling  dervishes — Asleep  among  the  sugar-canes — 
On  the  Nile  by  starlight — Crocodiles  and  a  superstition — The 
Moharram  celebration — In  a  panic-stricken  multitude — Tbe 
people  beaten  by  soldiers — An  awful  procession — Self-inflicted 
wounds — The  Suez  Canal — Over-zealous  porters  at  Port  Said. 

"/^|NE  reform  my  country  needs,"  said  a  young 
^^^  Egyptian  doctor  with  whom  I  became 
acquainted,  "is  the  substitution  of  capable  and 
educated  guides  for  our  present  dragomans." 
He  found  himself  with  leisure,  it  happily  chanced, 
to  demonstrate,  in  his  own  person,  how  greatly 
a  visitor  would  benefit  by  the  innovation. 

Under  the  doctor's  escort  I  saw  the  dervishes. 
First  we  visited  the  "dancing"  variety,  who, 
in  their  circular  mosque,  spin  round  and  round 
on  twinkling  feet  with  such  sustained  dexterity 
that  the  spectator,  growing  giddy  and  weary, 
is  apt  to  turn  his  back  on  an  unfinished  per- 
formance. The  "howlers,"  flinging  about  their 
bodies  and  persistently  uttering  dolorous  groans, 
pleased   me  even  less.      Indeed,    with    money 

34 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  35 

charged  for  admission,  and  an  area  railed  off 
for  strangers,  the  element  of  show  is  in  both 
cases  more  manifest  than  any  spirit  of  spon- 
taneous piety. 

Also  my  friend  bethought  him,  as  a  way  to 
give  me  pleasure,  of  a  row  on  the  Nile  by  star- 
light ;  and  thus,  when  the  night  had  come,  and 
after  an  experience  of  Turkish  confectionery, 
we  walked  to  the  river  and  crossed  the  suspen- 
sion bridge.  This  was  to  find  ourselves  in  the 
al  fresco  sugar-cane  market,  where  pans  of  glow- 
ing charcoal  (means  of  making  coffee)  shed  their 
ghostly  illumination  on  recumbent  figures  asleep 
under  the  trees — a  place  of  mystery,  and  very 
quiet. 

I  had  never  tasted  sugar-cane ;  and  the  doctor, 
on  learning  this,  insisted  that  I  must  not  miss 
my  present  opportunity.  Wherefore  the  next 
minute  was  he  stooping  over  a  great  blue 
bundle  of  snoring  unconsciousness,  to  which  he 
addressed  words  loud  and  insistent.  At  his 
reiterated  Arabic,  the  blue  bundle  resolved 
itself  into  an  old  Egyptian  of  chocolate-coloured 
visage,  who,  getting  asquat,  blinked  at  us  with 
sleepy,  plaintive  eyes. 

On  surrendering  a  little  piastre,  we  had  per- 
mission to  take  three  canes  from  a  neighbouring 
pile,  the  venerable  merchant  being  positively  too 
sleepy  to  engage  in  the  customary  attempt  to 
secure  excessive  payment.     The  doctor  selected 


$6       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

canes  he  judged  to  be  juicy,  and  the  old  man 
went  to  sleep  again. 

My  lesson  was  easy  to  learn.  You  tear  off 
the  bark  with  your  teeth,  one  segment  at  a  time, 
and  you  suck  and  chew  the  remaining  white 
stick.  Chatting  and  munching  and  smacking 
our  lips,  we  strolled  to  the  water's  edge,  where 
I  made  confession  that  the  juice  was  running 
down  my  arm.  That,  the  doctor  explained,  was 
a  common  experience  of  the  novice. 

"  If  you  be  not  careful,"  he  added,  "  it  will 
also  trickle  down  your  chest." 

Creeping  along  a  gangway,  he  peered  beneath 
the  awning  of  a  yacht,  saying,  "  Ali !  Ali !  " 
softly. 

Again  and  again  he  spoke  that  name,  but 
always  with  no  result.  My  friend's  gentle  voice, 
the  lapping  of  the  water,  and  night-birds  calling 
over  Ghizeh  way,  were  the  only  sounds  that 
broke  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

"  I  can  see  him,"  whispered  the  doctor  ;  "  but 
he  is  sound  asleep." 

"  Give  him  a  prod,"  I  suggested. 

He  administered  the  restorative  and  woke  up 
— the  wrong  man.  But  the  sweet  temper  of  the 
Egyptian  sailor  was  proof  against  this  severe 
provocation.  He  indicated  the  near  vessel  on 
which  Ali  slumbered,  and  straightway  returned 
to  his  dreams.  Obeying  this  sure  direction,  the 
doctor  soon  had  Ali  awake  and  grinning. 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  37 

A  lithe  Soudanese  sailor  boy  is  Ali,  and  it 
was  good  to  see  him  clutch  gratefully  at  the 
proffered  sugar-cane.  In  a  little  while  he  and 
we,  in  a  broad  thick  boat  with  heavy  oars,  were 
floating  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Nile  in  the 
calm  light  of  the  stars. 

The  doctor  and  I  laboured  in  turns  at  the 
rowlocks  ;  then,  surrendering  the  oars  to  Ali,  we 
talked  of  Egypt — a  theme,  as  1  knew,  dear  to 
my  companion's  heart. 

But  he  spoke  of  modern  Egypt,  whereas, 
when  we  grew  silent  under  the  night's  solemn 
influence,  it  was  of  ancient  Egypt  that  I  thought 
— the  Egypt  of  an  early  civilization  dating  into 
the  dim  past,  with  its  hallowed  drama  of  a 
people  held  in  bondage,  and  its  sacred  page  of 
history  concerning  a  Child  and  all  mankind  for 
ever.  And  I  had  seen  the  image  of  that  Egypt 
surviving,  not  indeed  in  the  cities,  but  in  the 
landscapes  of  brown  earth  with  camels  and  date- 
palms  and  figures  gowned  in  white  or  blue. 
Out  on  the  Nile,  in  the  black  Egyptian  night,  the 
past  became  one  with  the  present. 

As  we  glided  beside  the  banks  of  the  Island  of 
Roda,  a  fishing-boat  crossed  our  bow,  and  we 
could  see  the  faces  of  the  fishermen  by  the  light 
of  their  lantern.  The  two  men  who  rowed  were 
singing  in  the  soft,  nasal  Arabic. 

Dipping  my  hand  in  the  Nile,  I  found  the 
temperature  pleasant.     So  I  playfully  challenged 


38       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Ali  to   a   swim.      The   doctor  interpreted   my 
suggestion  and  its  reception. 

"  He  says  he  is  afraid  of  crocodiles." 

"  But  there  are  no  crocodiles  here." 

"  There  are  none  really,  as  he  knows.  But 
it  is  a  superstition  that  one  might  come  in  the 
night." 

Nor  did  that  row  on  the  Nile  complete  the 
experiences  I  owed  to  the  young  doctor's  friend- 
ship. Next  evening  he  took  me  to  see  an 
annual  event  of  awful  interest :  the  Moharram 
celebration  of  the  Shiites — one  of  the  two  prin- 
cipal Mohammedan  sects.  We  walked  through 
many  streets,  and  soon  were  among  a  throng  of 
people  all  hurrying  in  the  same  direction. 

Coming  presently  to  the  Sharia  Darb-el-Gedid, 
I  looked  upon  a  strange  scene.     It  was  as  though 
the   population   of   Cairo   was   massed   in   that 
thoroughfare.     We  two  were  in  the  dense  and 
perturbed  stream  of  new  arrivals  moving  along 
the  roadway.     But  the  ample  illumination  re- 
vealed, to  right  and  left,  a  huge  waiting  assembly 
monopolizing  every  point   of  observation.     On 
the  pavement  a  front  row  of  spectators  sat  upon 
the  kerb,  others  behind  them  occupied  a  double 
row  of  chairs,  while  still  others,  tightly  wedged 
together,   stood  in  the  background.      All  the 
windows,   wide   open,   framed   human   faces   in 
close  clusters — mainly  the  faces  of  women  and 
children. 


A  Mohammedan  Horror 


39 


THE  SPHINX  FROM  BEHIND 


To  see  the  former,  even  thus  vaguely,  was  a 
new  experience  for  me.  For,  under  security  of 
remoteness  and  artificial  light,  there  was  almost 
universal  omission  of  the  veil  and  nose-shield, 
which  serve  by  day  to  render  Mohammedan 
women  either  hidden  or  hideous.  Even  the 
housetops  were  fringed  with  people,  figuring 
darkly  against  the  sky. 

It  was   close  on  the  time  for  the    Persian 


40       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

procession  to  come.  But  here  were  we,  a  help- 
less multitude,  in  possession  of  the  roadway. 
That  we  must  be  headed  back,  and  driven  into 
the  side  streets,  appeared  inevitable.  But^  I 
asked  myself,  would  all  these  people  submit  to 
be  cheated  of  the  sensation  for  which  they  clearly 
were  so  eager  ?  A  contrast  indeed  this  situation 
afforded  to  the  elaborate  precautions  with  which, 
in  anticipation  of  street  pageantry,  the  London 
authorities  preserve  an  open  roadway. 

There  was  a  violent  development.  The  air 
became  full  of  frenzied  shouting,  and  the  people 
poured  helter-skelter  back.  Thanks  to  the 
doctor's  prompt  action,  we  two  maintained  our 
ground.  Dragging  me  after  him  in  an  iron 
grip,  he  set  an  example,  which  I  was  not  slow 
to  follow,  of  clinging  to  a  post  standing  beside 
the  kerb.  Thus,  as  the  human  avalanche  swept 
by,  we  were  able  to  resist  its  pressure. 

And  soon  I  saw  the  cause  of  the  scurrying 
commotion.  A  company  of  Cairo's  soldier- 
police  (who  go  armed  with  sword  and  pistol) 
were  driving  and  beating  the  people.  It  was 
their  way  of  clearing  a  passage  for  the  pro- 
cession. 

With  infinite  displeasure  I  beheld  those  canes 
raining  blows  on  fellaheen  and  bedouins,  fleeing 
and  full  of  fear.  Even  when  some  poor  fellow 
was  singled  out  for  sustained  chasing  and  chas- 
tisement,    he     offered    neither    resistance    nor 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  41 

remonstrance,   his   effort   being  solely   directed 
to  reach  cover  in  the  retreating  throng. 

Should  I  also,  with  indignant  wonder  I  asked 
myself,  be  thrashed  for  the  mere  offence  of 
standing  in  the  roadway  ?  No ;  those  diplo- 
matic brown  soldiers  drew  the  line  at  assaulting 
an  Englishman.  A  friendly  official  gesture 
directed  us  to  slip  through  the  cordon,  and  so 
find  roomy  asylum  in  the  stretch  of  roadway 
already  partly  cleared. 

Presently  our  companions  in  that  arena  were 
filled  anew  with  panic,  and  went  stampeding 
by  us.  Again,  withstanding  the  pressure  of  the 
populace,  we  saw  the  cause  of  this  second  rout 
in  the  advance  of  a  squad  of  mounted  men,  also 
slashing  freely  with  their  canes,  and  slewing 
round  their  horses  to  the  further  discomfiture 
of  tardy  fugitives. 

Once  more  it  became  a  theme  of  anxious 
speculation  whether  events  would  justify  the 
doctor's  faith  in  the  protective  influence  of  my 
nationality.  A  beautiful  white  horse  advanced 
upon  us,  its  rider,  with  an  angry  show  of  teeth, 
vigorously  belabouring  Cairo's  submissive  citi- 
zens. Already  a  reckless  arm  was  raised  to 
smite  us,  when  timely  recognition  stayed  the 
blow,  and,  with  hasty  wave  of  hand,  we  were 
given  safe  conduct  between  the  horses.  The 
anxious  soldier,  by  further  signs,  directed  that, 
instead  of  lingering  in  the  cleared  roadway,  we 


42       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

must   seek   asylum   among   spectators   to   right 
or  left. 

This  proved  no  easy  matter.  Crushing  our 
way  across  the  pavement,  we  entered  a  small 
hotel,  yet  only  to  learn  that,  all  his  windows 
let,  the  proprietor  could  merely  offer  us  standing- 
room  upon  the  roof.  Desiring  a  more  advan- 
tageous situation,  we  returned  to  the  roadway, 
and  finally,  after  several  other  vain  excursions 
into  the  throng,  secured,  in  return  for  ample 
payment,  two  chairs  before  a  little  Turkish 
coffee-shop. 

We  were  just  in  time.  With  wild  and  dismal 
incantations  came  the  head  of  the  procession — 
young  men  carrying  flaming  braziers  high  over- 
head. A  second  company  of  beacon-bearers 
were  grouped  about  a  man  astride  a  richly 
caparisoned  steed,  from  which  elevation  he  was 
able,  with  resin-saturated  sticks,  to  replenish 
the  surrounding  cages  of  fire.  A  few  paces 
behind  walked  a  led  horse,  also  gorgeously 
draped,  and  with  a  helmet  fixed  conspicuously 
on  his  back.  Next  we  saw  another  group  of 
young  men  carrying  braziers,  which  illumined 
a  sad,  strange  horse  following  them  with  falter- 
ing footsteps.  This  animal's  head  hung  low, 
and  its  body  was  draped  with  a  great  white 
sheet,  penetrated  by  arrows,  and  with  ghastly 
splashes  of  crimson  below  their  points  of 
entrance. 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  43 

"That  is  blood,"  my  Egyptian  friend  whis- 
pered. "  This  represents  the  horse  of  Hussein, 
who  was  killed  by  Yazid  with  an  arrow — Saidna 
Hussein  these  Persians  call  him,  '  Saidna '  mean- 
ing ■  Our  Master.'  Hussein  was  a  kinsman  of 
Mahomet,  and  the  murder  took  place  soon  after 
the  Prophet's  death.  These  Shiites  hold  the 
curious  belief  that  Ali,  Hussein's  father,  should 
have  received  the  messages  that  were  conveyed 
through  Mahomet.  This  tenth  day  of  the  first 
month  of  the  lunar  year  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  Hussein,  and  here,  as  also  through- 
out Persia,  the  Shiites  are  showing  they  are 
sorry  for  the  murder.  You  must  now  prepare 
for  an  awful  sight." 

The  ghastly  horse  having  gone  by,  we  saw 
a  company  of  men  with  their  vestments  open 
in  front.  Each  man  vigorously  smote  his  breast 
with  palm  or  fist,  so  that  the  flesh  was  inflamed 
where  the  blows  fell,  and  all  were  crying,  in 
hollow  tones  of  pain  and  supplication,  "Hussein  ! 
Hussein  ! "  and  likewise  "  Madad  !  Madad  ! " — 
an  appeal  to  God  for  notice  and  help. 

These  men  with  bare  breasts  were  succeeded 
by  a  little  group  of  Mohammedan  merchants 
(in  European  attire  supplemented  by  the  fez), 
who  walked  slowly  with  a  grave,  abstracted  air. 
Then  came  another  group  of  men  groaning  and 
declaiming  in  the  throes  of  self-inflicted  torture. 
Their   vestments   were  open   behind,  and  they 


44       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

swung  iron  chains  in  contact  with  their  backs, 
so  that  again  I  saw  large  areas  of  flesh  lividly 
crimson,  and  this  time  notched  across  with  lines 
of  deeper  hue.  Composure  was  once  more 
seen  in  contrast  with  agony,  for  now  another 
group  of  well-groomed  Mohammedans  advanced 
leisurely  with  faces  free  from  emotion. 

Finally  came  a  hateful  spectacle  that  haunts 
my  memory.  Brazier- bearers  went  in  front  to 
illumine  the  horror.  While  yet  our  eyes  were 
innocent  of  the  sight,  we  knew  some  dreadful 
thing  had  come  to  the  view  of  near  spectators, 
for  they  were  stretching  forward  with  faces  rigid 
and  pitiful.  The  next  minute  I  had  seen  and 
turned  away,  sick  and  shuddering. 

Some  dozen  bare-headed  men  and  youths 
robed  in  white,  and  roped  together  in  rows  for 
mutual  support,  were  striking  their  foreheads 
sideways  with  the  edges  of  long,  glittering 
knives.  The  result  was  blood — blood  in  copious 
streams.  It  deluged  their  faces,  it  ran  glistening 
down  their  necks,  it  splashed  their  clothes.  As 
they  struck,  they  uttered  hideous,  appalling 
groans.  Beside  them  walked  priests,  inciting  to 
a  greater  zeal  in  this  horrid  rite.  Those  red,  wet 
faces  of  misery  can  never  be  forgotten. 

Of  the  nearest  sufferers  we  saw  the  gory 
backs  ;  for  their  heads  involuntarily  shrank  back, 
causing  much  blood  to  course  through  the  hair. 
The  last  in  the  row  was  but  a  boy,  whose  hand 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  45 

was  held  by  a  man — his  father,  my  companion 
assumed — who  was  goading  the  poor  little  fellow 
to  a  freer  use  of  the  knife. 

Such  was  the  public  ceremony,  to  be  followed 
in  private — I  was  informed — by  the  slow  torturing 
and  killing  of  a  lamb,  thus  mishandled  in  the 
character  of  Yazid. 

And  so  it  happened  that  my  last  night  in 
Cairo  left  me  with  haunting  memories. 

Going  next  morning  by  rail  to  Port  Said,  I 
saw  the  Suez  Canal.  It  startles  the  eye.  In  a 
grey  landscape  of  desolate  sand,  it  is  straight, 
narrow,  and  conspicuous,  like  a  neatly  ruled 
streak  of  blue  paint.  Railway  and  canal  running 
in  a  close  parallel  for  many  miles,  you  have  a 
good  view  of  mud-dredgers  and  bright- coloured 
buoys — modern  and  matter-of-fact  in  that 
ancient  desert.  When,  with  head  out  of  window, 
I  looked  back,  the  waterway  soon  ran  from 
sight  behind  hillocks,  but,  just  beyond,  a  great 
liner  was  bearing  down  upon  us  with  copious 
arising  clouds  of  smoke — a  ship  gone  demented 
and  cruising  inland. 

I  regret  to  record  that  my  arrival  at  Port  Said 
railway  station  was  the  humble  cause  of  two 
human  bosoms  being  wrung  with  emotion.  It 
chanced  that,  as  the  train  neared  its  destination, 
I  was  busy  with  a  little  problem  in  mental 
arithmetic.  This  concerned  certain  distances 
in   Palestine,   divisible   by   a  given   number  of 


46      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

available  days,  and  with  the  speed  of  two  in- 
experienced horsemen  as  an  unknown  factor 
lending  itself  to  hypothetical  treatment. 

The  engine-driver  having,  so  to  speak,  finished 
his  work  first,  I,  guided  merely  by  an  intelligent 
instinct,  alighted  from  the  train  with  my  belong- 
ings, which  I  deposited  on  the  platform  at  my 
feet — a  course  of  action  involving  no  loss  of  grip 
on  the  problem  which,  because  it  remained 
unsolved,  continued  to  engross  my  mind. 

That  the  platform  was  a  scene  of  some  anima- 
tion I  was  dimly  aware ;  also  was  there  a 
dormant  realization  that  an  enthusiastic  Bedouin 
stood  by  my  side,  and,  with  eager  reiteration, 
was  proposing  to  carry  my  luggage  to  any 
desired  destination. 

The  mechanical  refusal  of  this  service  took  the 
form,  not  at  first  of  speech,  but  of  a  repeated 
negative  jerking  of  the  hand,  much  as  the 
absorbed  student,  without  withdrawing  attention 
from  his  book,  will  war  against  the  persistence 
of  a  fly.  And  just  as  a  failure  to  rout  the  insect 
oft-times  generates  an  irritation  which  the  undis- 
tracted  intellect  would  not  sanction,  so,  quickened 
into  lawless  anger  by  the  Arab's  tireless  impor- 
tunities, I  told  him  to  run  away  and  not  be  such 
a  nuisance — an  involuntary  observation  which,  I 
ask  the  reader  to  believe,  lacked  the  authority  of 
my  better  self. 

Nay,  I  scarce  knew  I  had  spoken  those  words 


A  Mohammedan  Horror 


47 


until  I  heard  them  repeated  by  him  to  whom 
they  were  addressed — a  man  now  wholly  beside 
himself,  and  dancing  about  the  platform  in  an 
extremity  of  wounded  sensitiveness. 

If  I  had  shot  him  with  a  poisoned  arrow  he 
could  hardly  have  zigzagged  around  in  more 
piteous  fashion.  Pointing  me  out  with  a 
trembling  forefinger,  he  shrieked  into  unheeding 


RODA  ISLAND,  ON  THE  NILE 

ears  on  account  of  the  insult,  sometimes  in 
Arabic  and  sometimes  in  English : 

"  He  tell  me  run  away !  He  tell  me  run 
away ! " 

Full  of  contrition,  and  with  a  mind  now 
wholly  estranged  from  my  little  geographical 
calculation,  I  watched  that  distraught  figure 
until,  still  searching  in  vain  for  sympathy,  he 
was  lost  in  the  throng. 


48       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Meanwhile  the  spirit  of  mischief  had  been 
laying  plans  to  make  me  the  unintentional  cause 
of  more  human  tribulation.  Suddenly  I  became 
aware  that  a  lithe  Arab  stripling  of  perhaps  four- 
teen had  bravely  shouldered  my  largest  piece  of 
luggage,  and  was  turning  to  beckon  me  as  he 
staggered  with  his  burden  towards  the  platform 
exit.  Grabbing  up  my  other  possessions,  I 
promptly  made  after  the  self-appointed  porter, 
and,  laying  a  restraining  hand  on  his  arm, 
commanded  him  to  desist  from  his  unauthorized 
enterprise. 

Reluctant  to  be  baulked  of  the  expected  fee, 
the  youth  entered  into  some  feverish  arguments, 
which  he  abruptly  terminated  to  take  to  his 
heels — a  sudden  departure  of  which  the  occa- 
sion was  revealed  to  me  when,  on  turning,  I 
beheld  the  runaway  being  skilfully  stalked  by 
two  imposing  representatives  of  the  Egyptian 
gendarmerie. 

A  moment  later  the  captured  boy  was  utter- 
ing lamentable  blubbering  and  shrill  yells  of 
pain  as  his  little  brown  head  was  being  cuffed 
by  one  of  those  personages,  who  seemed  bent 
on  assisting  the  government  of  Egypt  by  simul- 
taneously discharging  the  offices  of  policeman, 
judge,  and  executioner. 

Hastening  to  the  spot,  I  was  thunderstruck 
to  learn  the  indictment :  "  Me  see  you  stop  him 
try  steal.     Him  bad  boy,  sar.     I  take  him  to 


A  Mohammedan  Horror  49 

prison  all  right."  Saying  which  the  strong  man 
bent  the  screaming  youngster  this  way  and  that, 
as  though  ambitious  to  break  his  backbone. 

In  blunt  speech  I  told  the  military  jack-in- 
office  that  the  boy  was  no  thief,  and  that 
he  himself  was  little  removed  from  a  noodle ; 
and,  in  his  great  astonishment  to  find  zeal  so 
poorly  appreciated,  the  soldier  stood  regarding 
me  open-mouthed.  His  hands  must  momen- 
tarily have  relaxed  in  sympathy  with  his  jaw, 
for  the  boy  wrenched  himself  free,  and,  dodging 
a  dazed  and  clumsy  attempt  at  recapture,  darted 
away  and  disappeared. 

That  seemed  a  sufficiently  satisfactory  de- 
velopment, so,  leaving  the  official  chewing  his 
moustache,  I  hied  me  to  a  bystander,  upon 
whose  cap  I  had  noted  the  friendly  name  of 
"  Cook."  In  guilty  silence  I  submitted  to  that 
individual's  mild  reproaches  for  that  I  had  not, 
on  the  train's  arrival,  placed  myself  in  his  care. 

Having  spare  time  at  Port  Said,  I  walked 
some  little  way  along  the  Suez  Canal,  noting 
the  black  scum  left  upon  the  water  by  a  moored 
fleet  of  colliers,  and  gathering  shells  upon  the 
artificial  shore.  I  saw  another  and  a  smaller 
canal,  partly  overhung  with  trees,  and  holding 
a  fluid  precious  in  the  eyes  of  the  city's  popu- 
lation. There  is  a  seductive  and  grateful  sug- 
gestion in  the  very  description  of  this  second 
stream  of  man's  devising.  The  "  Sweet  Water 
4 


50       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Canal"  conveys  from  Ismailia  an  ample  supply 
of  one  of  life's  prime  necessaries.  Near  the 
waterworks  there  is  a  gateway,  through  which  I 
looked  out  over  an  uninterrupted  view  of  delta — 
a  vast  watery  plain  where  nothing  stirred  but  a 
few  solitary  sea-fowl. 

Night  was  falling  when,  on  board  a  Khedieval 
steamer,  I  left  Egypt  and  began  my  voyage 
along  the  eastern  shores  of  the  Mediterranean. 


OUR  CAMP 

CHAPTER  IV 

Arrival  in  Palestine 

Fellow  voyagers — A  first  sight  of  the  Holy  Land — Jaffa  from  the 
sea — Going  ashore  at  Haifa — Meeting  my  brother — His  presence 
explained  :  an  artist  sent  out  by  the  Religious  Tract  Society — 
Impressions  of  the  town — Our  camp  on  the  shore — Dining 
under  canvas — George  the  waiter — Solomon  the  dragoman — 
Securing  our  passports — A  surprise  in  the  dark — Guarded  at 
night  by  armed  sentinels — Sleeping  under  mosquito  curtains — 
Beetles  and  a  spider — Viewing  a  unique  collection  of  ancient 
glass  vessels. 

TOURNEYING  from  Marseilles  to  Alexandria 
**  on  a  French  liner,  I  had  enjoyed  the  com- 
panionship of  men  and  women  born  under 
various  flags  and  skies  ;  but  the  Egyptian  packet 
provided  me  with  an  even  richer  cosmopolitan 
experience. 

On  the  Messageries  vessel,  French  and  Eng- 

5i 


52       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

lish  had  been  associated  with  a  German  watch- 
maker from  New  York  and  a  Prussian  dame 
with  a  Swiss  canary,  while  my  cabin  companion 
was  a  Frenchman  with  an  Italian  name  who 
lived  in  Egypt,  was  born  in  Bombay,  and  had 
spent  some  years  in  England — out  of  which 
jumble  of  terrestrial  experiences,  by  the  by, 
there  had  emerged  a  character  of  great  kind- 
ness and  a  manner  so  polite  that  he  begged  me 
not  to  cease  smoking  even  when  (for  he  was 
given  to  great  uneasiness  at  sea)  he  lay  sick  in 
his  bunk. 

On  the  Khedieval  boat  I  sat  at  meat  with 
a  Hungarian  on  my  right,  a  Turk  on  my  left, 
a  Syrian  family  opposite,  and  with  priests  of 
Spain,  Italy,  and  Armenia  sprinkled  along  the 
saloon.  Yet,  even  had  we  all  been  able  to 
talk  Esperanto,  the  conversation  would  scarce, 
I  think,  have  reached  the  high  level  of  varied 
interest  of  which  the  composition  of  the  company 
might  seem  to  give  promise. 

At  our  first  meeting  I  looked  around  at 
countenances  demure,  preoccupied,  and  full  of 
vague  misgiving ;  and  when,  later,  the  vessel 
began  some  mild  gambols  in  the  open  sea, 
empty  chairs  at  meals  far  outnumbered  those 
in  occupation.  Indeed — if  the  reader  will  not 
think  the  reflection  pitched  in  too  high  a 
patriotic  key — foreigners  are,  as  a  class,  poor 
sailors.     Indeed,  had   I  not,  on  the  voyage  to 


Arrival  in  Palestine  53 

Egypt,  and  during  an  acquaintance  with  fiddle- 
strings  and  a  hurricane,  found  our  assembly  of 
sixty  diners,  mostly  French,  dwindle  to  a  group 
of  nine,  all  English  ? 

A  calmness  had  come  over  the  sea  when, 
in  the  distance  on  our  right,  I  first  beheld  the 
Holy  Land.  It  was  a  narrow  line  of  soft 
greens  and  purples,  with  here  and  there  a  hint 
of  golden  sand ;  and  we  were  voyaging  on  blue 
water  in  warm  sunshine.  It  was  peaceful.  It 
was  beautiful.  I  was  sitting  on  deck  upon  a 
coil  of  rope,  and  no  one  was  near  me.  I  looked 
and  looked  again  at  Palestine,  so  delicately  de- 
fined in  tender  hues. 

A  human  voice  rang  out  from  the  bridge, 
with  instructions  for  the  engine-room,  while 
still  I  gazed  at  the  wondrous  little  land  that 
links  earth  with  heaven.  And  1  would  not 
have  had  it  otherwise.  Thus  to  be  reminded 
of  the  modern  world  was  not  incongruous  with 
my  reverie.  Nay,  it  emphasized  my  joy  to  be 
where  I  was — I  who  belonged  to  the  England 
of  to-day,  with  its  halfpenny  newspapers  and 
motor  omnibuses.  And  wherefor  should  the 
hearty  voice  of  an  honest  sailorman  seem  a 
jarring  note  in  my  vision  of  Palestine  ?  Mystery 
and  ceremonial  have  crept  into  religions  ;  but 
simplicity  is  a  property  of  the  truth  on  which 
religions  rest.  The  Truth — that  best  of  all 
words  in  the  dictionary. 


54       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

The  sea  was  once  more  in  commotion  when 
we  anchored  off  Jaffa.  To  see  a  Palestine  town, 
if  from  afar,  carried  me  one  stage  further  in  a 
thrilling  experience.  But  indeed  that  remote, 
indefinite  line  of  houses  appealed  rather  to  the 
mental  than  the  physical  sight.  Nearly  every- 
thing was  left  to  the  imagination.  The  eye  could 
do  little  more  than  note  the  row-boats  that  came 
out  for  passengers  (of  whom  I  was  not  one) 
intending  to  land  at  Jaffa.  At  first  but  black 
specks  amid  a  snowy  belt  of  inshore  breakers, 
they  grew  to  be  bulky  craft  high  at  bow  and 
stern,  like  sea-going  gondolas.  The  rowers, 
habited  in  scarlet,  plied  their  long  oars  with 
powerful  precipitancy,  in  an  obvious  competition 
for  early  places  alongside  the  anchored  steamer. 
We  gave  them  some  of  our  worst  cases  of  sea- 
sickness— poor  limp  mortals  whose  transfer  was 
effected  by  strong  arms — much  luggage  being 
also  lowered  into  the  heaving  boats. 

Anon  we  resumed  our  northward  voyage 
along  the  Palestine  coast,  until,  at  the  approach 
of  dusk,  and  with  fine  rain  falling,  we  anchored 
off  Haifa.  Now  it  was  my  turn  to  be  a 
passenger  in  one  of  the  sturdy  row-boats  that 
put  off  from  the  shore.  But  as  at  last  I  came 
to  close  quarters  with  a  Palestine  town,  it  failed  to 
engross  my  attention.  I  was  searching  eagerly 
for  a  familiar  sight  in  that  unfamiliar  scene. 
My  brother  Harold  was  to  meet  me  at  Haifa. 


Arrival  in  Palestine  55 

He  had  been  commissioned  by  the  Religious 
Tract  Society  to  travel  through  the  Holy  Land, 
that  he  might  make  studies  of  its  scenery, 
peoples,  and  sacred  sites,  and  so  be  enabled  to 
illustrate  Bible  scenes  with  fidelity.  Quitting 
England  ten  days  in  advance  of  me,  he  had 
arranged  that,  after  visiting  Constantinople,  he 
would  land  at  Beyrout  and  go  by  train  to 
Damascus  ;  thus  leaving  the  main  part  of  his 
Palestine  explorations,  for  which  railways  were 
not  available,  to  be  undertaken  on  horseback 
in  my  company. 

There  on  the  jetty  at  Haifa  he  was  waiting  ; 
and  it  gave  a  zest  to  our  meeting  that  he  and  I, 
for  so  many  days,  had  heard  but  little  of  our 
mother  tongue.  Soon  we  were  walking  briskly 
along  a  narrow  walled-in  thoroughfare,  rugged 
under  foot  and  full  of  shadows.  Haifa  had  a 
grimly  primitive  look.  The  influence  of  recent 
centuries  was  missing.  One  could  see,  even  in 
the  twilight,  that  its  inhabitants  still  lived  in  the 
Middle  Ages. 

But  a  surprise  of  more  personal  interest  was 
what  my  brother  had  in  store  for  me. 

"  Our  camp ! "  he  exclaimed,  as,  emerging 
from  that  sepia  town,  we  arrived  beside  the  sea. 

On  the  sloping  shore  a  considerable  encamp- 
ment lay  before  us  in  dim  silhouette,  with  lights 
showing  in  the  large  tents,  and  a  company  of 
silent   men  partly   revealed  in   the  glow  of  a 


$6       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

charcoal  fire.  And  the  next  minute  I  stood 
astonished  in  an  apartment  curtained  with 
Oriental  splendour.  It  was,  my  brother  said, 
our  dining-tent. 

Two  weeks  before,  I  had  handed  across  the 
counter  of  Messrs.  Cook's  office  at  Ludgate 
Circus,  a  cheque  for  £118.  That  I  was  paying 
for  my  journey  to,  through,  and  from  Palestine, 
and  in  a  sum  that  covered  all  costs  of  food 
and  travelling,  I  knew.  But  as  to  the  form 
our  camp  life  would  take  I  had  no  clue  to 
assist  conjecture.  What  I  had  expected  I 
hardly  know.  The  word  tent  is  apt  to  suggest 
personal  discomfort,  with  not  much  room  for 
your  feet ;  while,  in  contemplating  a  journey 
through  a  semi-civilized  land,  the  traveller 
naturally  supposes  that,  as  the  saying  goes,  he 
will  have  to  rough  it. 

The  glasses  and  silver  gleamed  brightly  on  the 
little  table  which,  illumined  by  candles  in  hand- 
some candlesticks,  was  laid  for  two.  My  brother 
told  me  that  dinner  was  ready,  our  kitchen 
arrangements  having,  it  would  seem,  been  timed 
in  accurate  relation  to  the  arrival  of  my  steamer. 
So  we  sat  down  then  and  there.  And  fish 
succeeded  soup,  with  poultry,  joint,  sweets,  and 
dessert  following  in  their  rotation.  I  am  not 
a  competent  critic  of  cuisine  ;  but  one  knows, 
at  least,  whether  the  dishes  that  come  to  table 
are  acceptable.    Those  were.    But  the  excellence 


Arrival  in  Palestine 


57 


of  that  meal  was  but  one  of  several  matters 
that  surprised  us. 

There  was  the  waiter,  for  instance.  Never 
was  I  served  at  table  by  a  man  who  looked  more 
like  some  character  out  of  a  pantomime.  Balloon- 
like knickerbockers  were  the  outstanding  feature 
of  his  toilet ;  so  that,  as  he  was  unlikely  to  be  a 
Dutchman,  we  set  him  down  for  a  Turk. 

A  waiter  who  put  so  much  heart  into  his  work 
was  new  to  me.  The  way  he  came  and  went 
was  the  perfection  of  silent  celerity  ;  while  his 
anxious  expression,  if  we  helped  ourselves 
sparingly  from  any  dish,  was  in  key  with  the 
honest  joy  that  overspread  his  countenance  when 
we  took  a  second  helping. 

Although  his  vocabulary  and  ours,  so  far  as 
we  could  discover,  contained  not  one  word  in 
common,  we  managed  an  interchange  of  thought 
on  all  essential  matters,  the  waiter's  frank  and 


OUR  CAMP  ON  THE  MOVE 


58       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

mobile  face  proving  a  ready  index  to  an  alert 
and  kindly  mind.  It  remains  but  to  add  that, 
recognizing  the  difficulty  of  ascertaining  the 
actual  name  of  our  servant,  my  brother  re- 
christened  him  George. 

Meanwhile  we  were  gazing  about  us  with 
growing  interest  in  our  canvas  quarters.  The 
word  tent  I  withdraw  as  inadequate.  Our  lines 
were  cast  in  a  pleasant  pavilion.  Circular,  of 
not  less  than  twelve  feet  in  diameter,  the  apart- 
ment had  a  perpendicular  wall  (if  that  be  not  too 
solid  a  term  to  use)  about  six  feet  high,  the  roof 
tapering  to  an  apex  supported  by  a  central  pole. 
But  it  was  the  aspect  of  our  dining-room,  rather 
than  its  size  or  shape,  that  excited  our  remark. 
For  the  canvas  was  enriched  with  great  wealth 
of  crimson  decoration,  lines  of  symmetry  being 
varied,  at  different  altitudes,  by  a  belt  of  detached 
and  various  forms,  which  we  assumed  to  be 
Arabic  characters.  The  effect  was  at  once  cosy, 
quaint,  and  splendid. 

Nor  was  George  our  only  visitor.  There 
came  to  us,  as  we  lingered  over  oranges  and 
almonds,  a  strange  figure  to  whom  I  was  vaguely 
aware  of  having  already  been  introduced.  But 
in  the  excitement  of  meeting  my  brother  on 
Haifa  jetty  I  had  omitted  to  pay  much  attention 
to  the  unassuming  individual  whom  I  found  in 
his  company. 

Standing  impassive,  the  new-comer  spoke  to  us 


Arrival  in  Palestine  59 

in  English,  quietly  and  with  infinite  composure  ; 
and  as  I  looked  and  listened  I  found  myself 
hesitating  between  awe  and  amusement.  The 
lower  part  of  him — riding  breeches,  leather 
gaiters,  and  heavy  boots — hinted  at  a  European 
stableman  ;  while  the  upper  part — Eastern  head- 
dress and  drapery — suggested  an  old  woman 
whose  brown  face  was  encircled  by  a  shawl. 
For  a  figure  divided  by  the  waist-line  into  two 
portions  so  foreign  to  one  another,  a  mermaid  is 
perhaps  the  nearest  analogy.  It  confused  the 
senses  to  find  dignity  in  so  close  association  with 
the  grotesque. 

My  brother  rather  scandalized  me  by  address- 
ing him  as  Solomon ;  though,  as  I  presently 
learnt,  Solomon  was  actually  the  name  of  our 
dragoman.  For  such  proved  to  be  the  character 
in  which  this  composite  personality  had  been 
specially  chosen  to  serve  us.  Nor  was  it  long 
before  he  gave  a  first  proof  of  zeal  for  our 
interests. 

Each  of  us  had  brought  from  London  a  pass- 
port giving  British  sanction  to  our  Eastern 
travels.  But  it  seemed  that,  if  my  brother  and  I 
desired  to  avoid  a  collision  with  the  Turkish 
authorities,  we  must  also  be  armed  with  local 
passports.  And,  since  we  had  finished  dinner, 
Solomon  advised  that  we  lose  no  time  in  furnish- 
ing ourselves  with  those  legal  instruments. 

Accordingly  we  set  forth  in  his  company  to 


60       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

retraverse  some  of  the  narrow  alleys  of  Haifa,  a 
town  now  plunged  in  dismal  darkness.  Coming 
soon  to  a  building  which,  as  revealed  by  its 
meagre  lamplight,  suggested  a  village  post  office, 
Solomon  cautiously  opened  the  door  and  went  in, 
after  bidding  us  wait  outside.  Nor  was  it  long 
before  he  came  out  again,  and,  mysteriously 
whispering  that  all  was  well,  conducted  us  back 
to  our  camp.  There  at  his  hands  I  received  my 
local  passport,  which,  to  one  so  ignorant  of 
Arabic  as  myself,  looked  something  between  a 
death  warrant  and  a  laundry  bill. 

A  little  later  my  brother  and  I  adjourned  to 
our  sleeping-pavilion,  which  in  size  and  decora- 
tion proved  a  duplicate  of  the  dining-tent.  It 
was  illumined  by  candles  and  furnished  with  two 
dressing-tables,  our  luggage,  some  camp  stools, 
and  two  beds.  Rugs  were  placed  here  and  there 
upon  what  I  had  almost  called  the  floor  ;  though 
that  is  no  name  for  sea-shore  shingle  covered 
with  a  network  of  low-growing  flowers — cer- 
tainly the  daintiest  carpet  I  ever  found  under  a 
roof. 

But  there  was  one  feature  of  the  apartment  on 
which  we  looked  at  first  with  little  favour, 
namely,  the  gauzy  canopies  of  white  muslin  that 
hung  over  our  beds— a  feminine  embellishment 
which  seemed  gratuitously  at  variance  with  the 
hardy  spirit  proper  to  travellers.  Then  suddenly 
the    explanation    occurred    to    my    brother — 


Arrival  in  Palestine  61 

mosquito  curtains  !  True,  we  saw  no  mosquitoes, 
but  perhaps  there  were  some  about,  and  no 
doubt  it  was  best  to  be  prepared. 

In  order  to  be  up  betimes  in  the  morning,  it 
would  be  well,  my  brother  pointed  out,  if  we 
retired  early  to  rest ;  and  accordingly  he  set 
about  the  preliminaries  of  going  to  bed.  For 
my  part,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
step  first  out  into  the  open ;  for  I  heard  quiet 
waves  caressing  the  pebbles  not  many  yards 
away,  and  I  fain  would  fill  my  lungs  with  the 
refreshing  night  air. 

It  was  very  dark  outside.  The  glow  of  the 
charcoal  fire  was  gone,  and  our  encampment 
was  given  over  to  silence  and  broken  snoring. 
Gingerly  I  walked  down  towards  the  water ;  and 
the  pale  starlight,  gradually  gaining  in  value  for 
my  eyes,  revealed  the  dim  difference  between 
shore  and  sea  and  sky.  And  it  chanced  that  my 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  stout  post  or  pillar 
which  I  detected,  conspicuous  against  the  grey 
background,  a  yard  or  so  away ;  whereupon, 
following  the  prompting  of  an  idle  curiosity, 
I  went  closer  and  stretched  forth  a  hand  to 
examine  what  I  took  to  be  the  weather-worn 
stump  of  a  beacon. 

Judge  then  how  my  nerves  jumped  at  the 
discovery  that  this  black  shape,  standing  un- 
cannily still,  was  that  of  a  man — and  no  ordinary 
man.     For  I  saw  in  silhouette  a  great  shaggy 


62       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

turbaned  head,  and  the  next  moment  I  had 
discerned  a  figure  raggedly  clad  in  Eastern 
breeches  with  bandaged  legs,  the  sinister  form 
of  a  pistol  butt  protruding  above  the  hip.  His 
face  was  indistinguishable,  but  I  knew  by  the 
poise  of  the  head  that  two  unseen  eyes  were 
fixed  on  me. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — I  didn't  see  you  at  first," 
I  lamely  gasped.  The  man's  arms  gave  an  up- 
ward jerk,  and  the  barrel  of  a  rifle  was  revealed, 
sloping  against  his  shoulder.  He  emitted  some 
hollow  nasal  sounds  that  were  unlike  human 
speech  and  highly  disconcerting. 

The  soft  music  of  the  waves  had  lost  their 
charm  for  me.  Restraining  myself  by  an  effort 
from  footsteps  of  flight,  I  got  back  to  the  tent, 
carrying  in  my  mind  the  image  of  as  truculent 
a  ruffian  as  ever  figured  in  tales  of  Spanish 
brigandage. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  my  brother,  when  I  re- 
counted my  experience,  "that  must  have  been 
one  of  our  guard.  I  hope  you  didn't  frighten 
him  !  I  forgot  to  tell  you — Solomon  says  we 
shall  often  have  soldiers  to  protect  our  camp 
at  night.  Otherwise,  it  seems,  we  might  be 
molested  or  robbed." 

Strange  how  personal  interests  will  colour  our 
impressions  of  other  people.  My  miscreant  of 
a  minute  ago  had  already  become  a  picturesque 
foreigner.     Nay,  a  certain  rugged  ferocity  in  his 


Arrival  in  Palestine  63 

aspect  now  assumed  the  character  of  a  virtue, 
since  it  strengthened  one's  sense  of  his  prowess 
as  a  champion. 

Meanwhile  my  brother,  to  judge  by  his  indig- 
nant exclamation,  had  discovered  a  more  serious 
menace  to  our  peace.  He  had  caught  a  spider 
in  his  bed,  a  spider  large  and  alert,  with  hairy 
legs. 

"  It's  all  very  well,"  said  my  brother,  "  but  I 
don't  like  this  sort  of  thing."  And  indeed  here 
was  a  cloud  across  our  vista  of  life  under  idyllic 
conditions. 

He  carefully  stripped  his  bed,  searching  every- 
where for  any  further  intruders — an  example  I 
was  quick  to  follow.  His  hunt  happily  proved 
unavailing,  but  I  found  two  green  beetles  under 
my  pillow. 

In  remaking  our  beds  we  were  careful  to  tuck 
in  the  coverlets,  instead  of  again  leaving  them 
hanging  to  the  ground  as  ladders  for  venturesome 
insects.  And  now  it  was  not  long  before,  having 
adjusted  our  mosquito  curtains  around  us,  we 
blew  out  the  candles  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

When  next  I  saw  our  camp,  the  sun  was 
shining  and  a  babel  of  merry  talk  arose  from  the 
strangely  clad  men  bustling  to  and  fro  among 
the  tents. 

After  breakfast  we  set  forth  with  Solomon  to 
pay  a  morning  call.  It  seemed  that  in  Haifa 
there  dwelt  a  learned  antiquary  whose  collection 


64       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

of  ancient  glass  ware  my  brother  wished  to 
see.  We  saw  it;  and  I  am  left  with  the  memory 
of  many  beautiful  vessels  and  of  a  still  more 
beautiful  courtesy. 

It  is  a  delightful  experience  to  call  at  a  house 
as  a  stranger  and  be  received  as  a  friend ;  and 
one's  delight  is  the  greater  when  this  happens  in 
a  foreign  town,  especially  in  a  town  so  foreign 
as  Haifa.  To  show  us  his  treasures  where  they 
stood  in  their  cabinets  was  not  enough  for  the 
antiquary.  He  took  them  all  out,  and — that 
the  English  artist  might  see  each  shape  to  full 
advantage — he  placed  them  with  loving  hands  on 
a  long  trestle  table. 

Indeed,  that  kind  old  gentleman  spared  us  so 
much  of  his  time  that,  when  at  last  we  took  our 
leave,  Solomon  looked  anxiously  at  his  watch, 
and  then  set  forth  briskly  towards  the  centre  of 
the  town.     There  we  found  our  horses. 


Harold  Copping 


A  Jewish  Beggar. 


. 


CHAPTER   V 


First  Days  on  Horseback 

Four  horses  and  a  muleteer — Can  a  middle-aged  man  learn  to 
ride? — Why  some  people  never  go  to  Palestine — False  im- 
pressions accounted  for — A  digression  with  a  moral — My 
lessons  at  a  riding-school — Drastic  tuition — What  it  feels  like 
to  trot — Another  method  of  learning — Our  departure  from 
Haifa — The  serene  sea-coast — My  horse  bolts — How  he  was 
stopped — Solomon's  reproaches  and  scepticism — Caution  ill 
rewarded  :  another  frantic  gallop — Luncheon  on  the  sandhills — 
Mahomet  blames  the  bridle — An  undignified  way  out  of  the 
difficulty. 

/CHAMPING  their 

^-^     bits  and  pawing 

the     ground,     there 

stood  four  tall  horses 

— two  chestnuts 

and  two  greys ; 

and     holding 

them    in    leash 

was    a    swarthy 

muleteer     who, 

by  reason  of  his 

black       ringlets 

and      bloodshot 

eyes,     looked 

unpleasantly  like   a  pirate  at  first  sight. 

5  « 


66      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Let  me  frankly  confess  that  I  beheld  those 
quadrupeds  without  enthusiasm.  I  am  not  a 
riding  man.  Nay,  until  a  few  weeks  before, 
when  the  project  of  visiting  Palestine  first  en- 
tered my  mind,  no  experience  was  more  remote 
from  my  inclination  or  thoughts  than  eques- 
trianism. 

To  say  that  is  to  lay  stress  on  a  difference 
that  marks  your  lifelong  citizen  from  a  person 
who,  if  only  in  his  youthful  years,  has  enjoyed 
the  opportunities  of  a  country  existence.  Rightly 
or  wrongly,  I  had  always  classed  riding  a  horse 
with  playing  the  violin  and  swimming:  if  you 
could  do  it  you  could  do  it,  and  if  you  couldn't 
it  was  no  good  trying;  it  being  a  condition  of 
proficiency  in  all  three  arts,  as  I  had  been  given 
to  understand,  that  you  must  begin  young. 

As  it  happened,  the  necessity  to  ride  a  horse 
had  also  found  my  brother,  not  only  unprepared, 
but  dubious  of  his  capacity  to  qualify  for  the 
emergency.  Nay,  had  not  the  personal  desire 
to  visit  Palestine  been  supported  by  a  sense  of 
professional  obligation,  we  must,  I  think,  have 
accepted  our  ignorance  of  horsemanship  as  fatal 
to  our  plans.  And  in  crying  off  the  expedition 
on  that  ground  we  should  have  been  in  good 
company. 

How  often  have  I  heard  it  said :  "  To  go  to 
the  Holy  Land  was  a  great  ambition  of  mine, 
but,  you  see,  I  do  not  ride."     And  again :  "  If 


First  Days  on  Horseback  67 

only  Palestine  were  opened  up  with  railways ! " 
(an  aspiration,  by  the  way,  that  will  scarce  be 
echoed  by  those  who  have  seen  the  country  as 
it  is,  still  retaining  the  aspect  of  a  hallowed 
antiquity,  and  who  may  well  feel  jealous  lest 
steam  traction  should  mitigate  those  primitive 
glories). 

In  this  connection,  too,  I  think  of  the  in- 
complete explorations  of  many  distinguished 
persons.  Besides  visiting  coast  towns  whither 
the  steamer  conveys  them,  they  journey  to 
Jerusalem  by  what  was,  until  a  recent  date, 
Palestine's  only  railway,  and  drive  thence  to 
Jericho  and  the  Dead  Sea.  And  it  is  certain 
of  those  travellers,  let  me  parenthetically  remark, 
who  report  Palestine  as  arid,  and  its  landscapes 
as  lacking  in  sylvan  charm.  They  judge  by 
rocky  heights  and  sandy  undulations  in  the 
vicinity  of  Jerusalem.  They  have  not  seen 
lovely  Nazareth  in  the  sunshine.  They  have 
not  stood  waist-deep  in  flowers,  and  gazed  on 
the  Sea  of  Galilee.  Not  for  them  are  the 
emerald  valleys  or  the  plains  on  fire  with  scarlet 
anemones. 

And  now,  in  the  name  of  example  and 
encouragement,  I  propose  to  present  my  readers 
with  the  equestrian  experiences  of  my  brother 
and  myself — than  whom,  let  me  frankly  confess, 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  any  two  persons  less 
"  horsey." 


68       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

To  begin  at  the  beginning:  three  weeks 
before  starting  for  the  East,  I  visited  a  London 
riding-school,  where  it  was  explained  that  for 
£l  5s.  6d.  I  could  have  six  lessons  of  one  hour 
each,  which  might  be  taken  at  any  time  on  any 
day.  Incidentally  I  peered  into  the  school,  a 
large  barn-like  structure,  where  one  horse  and 
rider  were  going  round  and  round  in  the 
brown  tan. 

"  How  many  lessons  has  he  had  ? "  I  asked, 
for  the  man  carried  himself  with  enviable  ease 
and  grace. 

"  Oh,  he  learnt  years  ago,"  replied  the 
riding-master.  "  He  is  just  taking  a  little 
exercise." 

"  I've  never  been  on  a  horse  in  my  life,"  said 
1,  anxious  for  comfort. 

"  No  ? "  said  the  riding-master. 

"And  I  feel  rather  nervous  about  it" 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right." 

"  I've  never  even  been  on  a  donkey." 

"No?" 

"  In  fact,  the  only  thing  I  have  ridden  is  a 
bicycle." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  riding  a  horse  is  like  everything 
else — you  learn  gradually,  moving  on  from  one 
stage  to  another  ? 

"  Yes." 

He  simply  would  not  talk. 


First  Days  on  Horseback  69 

"  One  gets  thrown  a  few  times  at  first,  no 
doubt  ? "  I  suggested. 

As  he  did  not  reply,  I  added :  "  But  of 
course  it  does  not  hurt  on  that  soft  stuff?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  might  have 
meant  anything. 

So  I  left  unconsoled,  and  with  no  clues. 

When,  a  few  days  later,  I  arrived  for  my 
first  lesson,  the  office  was  empty.  Again  peering 
through  the  window,  I  saw  three  mounted 
gentlemen,  and  one  mounted  lady,  trotting  in 
the  tan.  So  many  moving  hoofs  made  the  place 
look  dangerous,  so  I  resolved  to  call  again  later, 
when  it  might  be  my  better  fortune  to  find 
those  people  gone.  But  already  the  riding- 
master,  standing  in  the  arena,  had  perceived  a 
stranger  in  his  office,  and  he  came  sternly  with 
long  strides  to  learn  what  the  intrusion  might 
mean. 

On  hearing  that  I  wished  to  be  his  pupil, 
he  straightway  busied  himself  with  pen  and  ink, 
and  wrote  me  out  a  book  of  tickets. 

"  I'll  drop  in  a  little  later,"  I  said,  "  when 
there's  more  room." 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  replied.  "  Come  now " ;  and 
without  another  word  he  returned  to  the  tan. 

His  was  the  quiet  tone  of  command.  I  did 
not  know  how  to  disobey.  So  I  meekly  hung 
my  coat  on  a  peg,  and,  wondering  if  I  ought  also 
to  leave  my  hat,  I  followed  my  taciturn  master. 


70       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

After  all,  the  horses  were  moving  only  along 
the  outer  limits  of  the  arena.  In  the  centre  there 
was  plenty  of  room  wherein  a  novice  might 
receive  verbal  instruction.  For  this  first  lesson 
would  of  course  be  confined  to  theory — on  that 
point  my  mind  was  unclouded  by  doubt.  There 
would  be  so  much  to  explain — how  to  sit  in  the 
saddle,  where  to  rest  your  weight,  what  to 
do  with  your  knees,  and  so  on.  Moreover,  the 
principles  that  underlay  mounting,  guiding, 
stopping,  and  alighting  would  have  to  be  care- 
fully explained ;  and  I  surmised  that  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  first  lesson  would  be 
general  guidance  as  to  what  is  best  to  be  done 
when  your  horse  rears,  bucks,  stumbles,  or  bolts. 
I  wondered  whether  this  instruction  would  be 
imparted  with  or  without  the  aid  of  a  wooden 
dummy  horse  such  as  one  sees  in  gymnasiums 
and  saddlers'  shops. 

As  1  entered  the  arena  by  one  door,  a 
fourth  horse  was  led  out  by  another.  Dear  me, 
thought  I,  there  was  going  to  be  another  rider  ; 
and  so  much  the  less  room  for  me. 

But  the  situation  developed  in  a  manner 
contrary  to  these  conjectures. 

The  riding-master  went  up  to  the  led  horse — 
which  to  my  eye  seemed  a  mettlesome  beast — and 
beckoned  me  by  raising  the  butt  end  of  his  whip. 

"  With  the  right  hand  you  take  the  ends 
of  the  reins— so,"  he  demonstrated.      "  Then  you 


First  Days  on  Horseback  71 

insert  the  two  middle  fingers  of  the  left  hand — 
so.  Then,  having  thrown  the  end  over — so — you 
take  hold  of  the  mane  and,  facing  the  tail,  place 
the  left  foot  in  the  stirrup — so.     Now  do  it." 

Slowly  and  blunderingly  I  repeated  the  move- 
ments, thinking  within  myself  that,  after  all, 
it  was  of  course  best  to  demonstrate  these 
matters  by  means  of  the  living  reality. 

When  I  had  reached  the  final  position,  my 
mentor  said,  "  That's  all  right "  ;  whereupon  I 
withdrew  my  foot  from  the  stirrup. 

"  Here  !  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  said  the 
riding-master,  and  he  added,  somewhat  severely ; 
"  Put  it  back." 

Those  words  obliterated  time.  Once  more, 
after  so  many  years  of  freedom  and  independence, 
I  was  back  at  school — a  serf  with  a  slate, 
under  an  autocrat  with  a  cane.  Now,  as  then, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  humble  obedience. 
Once  more  instinct  told  me  it  were  vain  to 
try  and  teach  the  teacher  how  to  teach.  I 
must  do  as  I  was  bid. 

So  the  left  foot  was  thrust  again  into  the 
left  stirrup. 

"  That's  it,"  said  the  riding-master  in  a  tone 
of  kindness.     "  Now  get  up." 

"Now  do  whatl"  I  asked. 

"  Get  up  ! "  he  repeated,  this  time  in  the 
hard  voice  of  Fate  and  the  schoolmaster. 
"  Swing  up  ;  it's  easy  enough." 


72       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

"  What !  "  I  gained  time  by  gasping,  "  Clamber 
up  there  ?  " — pointing  to  the  beast's  broad  back. 

"  Yes,  up  you  get !     Look  sharp  !  " 

Argument,  it  was  clear,  would  be  useless. 
With  a  wild  upward  effort,  and  with  not  a 
pennyworth  of  thought  for  the  poor  horse,  I 
successfully  ascended ;  and  next  minute  was 
surveying  my  tyrant  from  the  saddle. 

The  groom  fidgeted  with  the  right  stirrup  and 
thrust  my  foot  into  it.  Then  the  riding-master 
said  :     "  Now  trot  round." 

The  horse  must  have  understood  him.  I  had 
many  urgent  questions  to  ask,  but  no  oppor- 
tunity for  asking  them.  I  was  a  cork  on  the 
angry  sea.  I  was  the  victim  of  an  earthquake 
of  horseflesh.     Oh,  the  jolting  and  the  jarring ! 

How  to  avoid  falling  off  ?  My  thoughts  were 
busy  with  that  problem  when  another  arose  to 
fill  my  mind  with  panic — how  to  steer?  We 
were  heading  straight  for  a  post.  The  groom 
had  said  something  about  moving  the  reins  this 
way  or  that.  But  which  way  for  which  direc- 
tion ?  I  experimented,  and  we  just  managed 
to  miss  the  post ;  but,  oh,  how  nearly  I  lost  my 
balance  in  turning  the  corner ! 

"  Don't  be  beaten  !     Stick  to  it ! " 

Dimly  I  heard  those  encouraging  words  from 
the  riding-master.  But  he  might  have  saved  his 
breath.  For  my  life's  sake  I  could  be  trusted 
to  do  my  best  to   remain  in  the  saddle.     Foi 


First  Days  on  Horseback  73 

the  rest,  I   knew  not  how  to  dismount,  or — 
necessary  preliminary — how  to  stop  the  horse. 

I  allow  the  other  riders  full  credit  for  that 
our  zigzag  course  resulted  in  no  collisions.  But 
presently  we  knocked  down  a  post.  I  say  "  we," 
though  I  did  not  want  the  horse  to  do  it. 

After  a  long  spell  of  jolt,  jolt,  jolt,  my  quad- 
ruped fell  into  a  walking  pace,  which  was  far 
more  comfortable  for  me. 

"  I'll  get  you  a  stick,"  said  the  riding-master. 

I  wondered  what  he  supposed  I  wanted  a  stick 
for.  But  he  brought  one,  and  handed  it  up  to 
me,  and  bade  me  beat  the  horse  with  it,  to 
make  the  horse  go  faster.  Never  in  my  life, 
however,  did  I  feel  less  disposed  to  ill-treat  a 
dumb  animal. 

At  last  the  time  came  when  my  master 
showed  me  how  to  dismount — a  lesson  I  was 
eager  to  learn ;  and  one  of  the  longest  half- 
hours  I  ever  remember  then  came  to  a  close. 

Thus  fully  have  I  revealed  how  far  my  con- 
duct was  removed,  on  this  particular  occasion, 
from  that  of  a  reckless  hero ;  for  I  fain  would 
have  the  reader  appraise  his  own  spirit  by  the 
poorer  standard  of  my  own,  and  so  recognize  his 
fitness  to  overcome  easily  the  fears  and  diffi- 
culties which  even  I,  as  these  pages  will  show, 
succeeded  to  a  sufficient  degree  in  mastering. 

A  stiffness  of  body  was  my  portion  on  the 
day   following   that    first    visit    to    the  riding- 


74       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

school — a  first  visit  that  had  carried  me  so  far 
along  the  path  of  knowledge  that  my  worst 
apprehensions  were  already  seen  to  have  been 
misapprehensions ;  and  I  found  myself  applaud- 
ing the  sagacity  of  a  master  who,  instead  of 
allowing  his  pupil  to  linger  shivering  on  the 
brink  of  the  unknown,  had  plunged  him  straight- 
way into  the  refreshing  and  buoyant  waters  of 
experience. 

During  the  following  week  I  went  again  to 
that  academy,  and,  mounting  my  horse  on  a 
second  attempt,  I  alternately  trotted  and  walked 
round  the  arena  for  the  space  of  forty  minutes, 
knocking  over  two  posts  this  time,  but  in  no 
other  way  suffering  mishap  or  inconvenience ; 
so  that,  when  I  left  the  building,  it  was  with 
a  strengthened  conviction  that  those  who  say 
horsemanship  is  difficult  to  acquire,  after  the  age 
of  forty,  don't  know  what  they  are  talking  about. 

To  be  astride  a  walking  horse  had  become  an 
experience  no  more  discomposing  than  to  be 
seated  in  a  chair.  Trotting,  now  the  novelty 
of  the  sensation  had  worn  off,  proved  to  be  a 
matter  of  rising  and  sinking  in  an  orderly 
routine  quite  consistent  with  one's  balance  and 
safety.  But  it  occurred  to  me  that  a  horse  is 
capable  of  a  third  method  of  progression ;  and, 
having  dismounted  after  my  second  lesson,  I 
spoke  to  the  riding-master  about  it. 

"  What  about  galloping  ? "  I  asked.     "  But,  of 


First  Days  on  Horseback  75 


OUR  HORSES 


course,  that  could  not  be  done  in  a  small  space 
like  this." 

"  You  think  not  ?  "  laughed  the  riding-master  ; 
and  straightway  he  swung  up  into  the  saddle 
and  began  vigorously  exhorting  and  smiting  the 
horse,  which  upreared  and  plunged  and  then 
set  off  at  a  furious  pace  that  caused  the  tan  to 
fly.     I  did  not  feel  moved  to  follow  my  master's 


y6       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

example,  nor  did  he  suggest  my  doing  so. 
Trotting,  I  mentally  decided,  was  good  enough 
for  me. 

After  enjoying,  a  few  days  later,  a  further 
twenty  minutes  on  horseback,  I  went  no  more 
to  the  riding-school ;  for  other  matters  urgently 
claimed  my  time,  and  I  judged  that,  having 
regard  to  the  advantage  conferred  by  those  first 
three  lessons,  1  could  afford  to  dispense  with  the 
others. 

Meanwhile  my  brother  let  me  know,  from 
time  to  time,  how  he  was  faring  in  the  saddle. 
Living  far  from  any  riding-school,  he  had  taken 
his  equestrian  education  into  his  own  hands. 
Having  borrowed  an  old  horse,  and  hired  a 
young  man  to  hold  it,  he  was  getting  his  ex- 
perience in  a  country  lane  not  much  frequented 
by  the  public.  And,  as  this  narrative  will  show, 
success  attended  even  that  method  of  learning 
to  ride  a  horse. 

Here  then  at  last  I  conclude  a  long  digression 
for  which,  in  view  of  the  practical  purpose  it  is 
intended  to  serve,  I  hope  I  may  be  pardoned. 
Let  us  now  revert  to  the  moment  when,  in  the 
centre  of  the  town  of  Haifa,  my  brother  and  I, 
accompanied  by  our  dragoman,  found  four  horses 
standing  in  charge  of  a  disreputable-looking 
muleteer. 

After  looking  at  his  watch,  Solomon  allotted 
one  of  the   greys   to   each   of  us,   and,   having 


First  Days  on  Horseback  77 

mounted  his  own  horse,  said  it  was  time  to  be 
moving  on.  As  to  the  method  of  our  departure, 
however,  his  idea  proved  at  variance  with  our 
intention. 

The  streets  of  Haifa  looked  scarce  six  feet 
wide ;  their  irregular  pavement  of  rocks  and 
stones  promised  a  treacherous  foothold  ;  and  the 
place  was  alive  with  picturesque  pedestrians. 
My  brother  and  I  declined  to  mount  our  beasts 
amid  such  a  complication  of  unfavourable  con- 
ditions. We  led  them  through  those  congested 
alleys,  following  in  the  wake  of  our  mounted 
companions ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  had 
passed  beyond  the  region  of  human  habitations 
and  were  looking  upon  a  perspective  of  flat 
sea-shore,  with  the  blue  of  the  Mediterranean 
margined,  on  our  left,  by  golden  shingle  and 
silvery  stretches  that  merged,  on  our  right,  into 
the  pale  tints  of  sand-hills  half  smothered  with 
vegetation. 

The  muleteer,  obviously  recognizing  the  duties 
of  groom  as  falling  within  his  office,  dismounted 
on  the  open  ground  to  see  the  two  travellers 
comfortably  in  the  saddle.  Resisting  a  first 
impulse  to  insert  my  right  foot  in  the  stirrup — a 
proceeding  which,  if  appointed  routine  be  other- 
wise persisted  in,  must  result  in  the  equestrian 
bestriding  his  horse  with  his  face  to  its  tail — I 
mounted  safely,  as  did  my  brother,  and  next 
minute  we  were  all  proceeding  on  our  way  at  a 


78       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

decorous  walking  pace.  But  the  two  chestnuts, 
whether  at  the  dictation  of  their  riders  I  do  not 
know,  walked  more  briskly  than  the  two  greys, 
so  that  Solomon  and  the  muleteer  were  presently 
several  hundred  yards  ahead  of  my  brother  and 
myself. 

Our  winding  course  followed,  not  indeed  a 
road,  but  a  well-defined  track,  which  had  its 
justification  in  conducting  us  over  a  bridge  of 
rough  timber  spanning  a  little  river.  Sometimes 
we  trod  the  level  turf,  sometimes  our  route  lay 
across  a  wide  expanse  of  firm  sand.  Nor  were 
foreign  touches  lacking  to  heighten  the  charm  of 
a  scene  so  reminiscent  of  holidays  at  home.  We 
saw,  a  little  way  inland,  a  dainty  grove  of  palm- 
trees  ;  while  our  interest  was  further  quickened 
by  the  zoological  experience — destined  to  become 
so  familiar — of  meeting  travellers  mounted  on 
camels. 

To  be  journeying  so  comfortably  in  the  sun- 
shine, along  that  sparkling  coast,  made  my  heart 
feel  light  within  me.  But  it  was,  I  think,  more 
particularly  the  sea-air  that  played  havoc  with 
my  discretion. 

I  thought  it  would  be  fine  to  have  a  trot — a 
trot  such  as  I  had  practised  at  the  riding-school. 
So,  to  rouse  my  horse  out  of  his  sluggish  pace,  I 
gave  him  a  gentle  prod  with  my  right  heel. 

The  result  was  instantaneous  and  deplorable. 
In   a  great  rush   of   air,    I    was  bumped,   and 


First  Days  on  Horseback  79 

bumped,  and  again  bumped.  The  brute  was  off 
at  a  gallop — that,  of  course,  I  knew.  But  how 
I  succeeded  in  retaining  my  seat  in  the  saddle  I 
do  not  know.  That  I  pulled  at  the  reins,  how- 
ever, I  am  convinced.  Nay,  I  afterwards  had  a 
memory  of  pulling  at  the  reins  with  a  violence 
so  callous  that,  even  in  the  throes  of  terror  and 
upheaval,  I  was  dimly  apprehensive  of  doing  the 
animal  some  physical  injury.  So  far  from  that 
being  the  case,  however,  he  continued  his  frantic 
career  until  the  startled  dragoman  and  muleteer, 
with  much  shouted  exhortation  in  Arabic,  inter- 
posed their  horses  plump  in  his  path  and  thus 
brought  him,  panting,  to  a  standstill. 

I  had  to  accept  Solomon's  reproaches  for  the 
part  I  admitted  to  have  played  in  goading  the 
beast  out  of  his  walking  gait.  I  must  not 
suppose,  he  warned  me,  that  a  horse  fresh  from 
a  two-days'  rest  could  resist  an  invitation  to 
stretch  his  limbs.  As  for  trotting — pshaw  !  this 
was  an  animal  of  spirit.  Nor  would  he  credit 
my  testimony  that  I  had  taken  proper  measures 
in  the  emergency,  I  may  have  thought  I  was 
tugging  at  the  reins,  he  said,  but  I  could  not 
have  done  so  really,  or  the  horse  would  have 
stopped.  Indeed  he  was  so  positive  about  it 
that  I  almost  came  to  have  doubts  on  the  subject 
myself. 

Making  my  apologies  for  having  unwittingly 
disturbed  the  serenity  of  our  progress,  I  returned 


80      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

to  my  pedestal  of  horseflesh  and  uncertainty,  and 
we  resumed  our  journey  towards  the  little  town 
that  figured  so  prettily,  with  its  foreground  of 
trees,  at  the  end  of  the  curve  of  coast.  It  was 
Acre,  the  dragoman  had  told  me,  and  our 
destination  for  that  day. 

There  could  be  no  more  passive  rider  than  1 
had  now  become.  Not  so  much  as  a  finger  did 
I  lay  on  my  too  responsive  horse.  But  in  less 
than  half  an  hour  he  was  filled  anew  with  the 
spirit  of  haste.  It  was  a  near  thing  with  me  not 
to  be  shocked  from  the  saddle  when,  without 
warning,  my  crazy  quadruped  leapt  once  more 
into  an  unrequested  gallop.  There,  then,  was 
poor  John  Gilpin,  his  feet  forsaken  by  the 
stirrups,  clinging  to  the  horse  by  what  unau- 
thorized means  his  memory  lacks  the  data  to 
describe,  and  probably  cutting  as  sorry  a  figure 
as  ever  astonished  the  sea-fowl  on  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean. 

They  heard  us  coming — those  two  experienced, 
phlegmatic  horsemen  riding  on  ahead— and,  be- 
stirring themselves  in  the  same  wise  as  before, 
they  again  caused  my  headstrong  steed  to  halt. 
Then  I  learnt  that,  mutiny  being  contagious, 
my  brother's  horse  had  started  galloping  in 
imitation  of  mine.  But  my  brother's  horse — 
docile,  acceptable  creature — had  consented  to 
the  restraint  of  the  reins. 

Fifty  yards  inland  were  sand-hills  which,  being 


First  Days  on  Horseback  81 

overgrown  with  bushes,  offered  pleasant  shade 
from  the  bright  sunshine.  An  ideal  place,  I 
suggested,  for  lunch.  In  simple  Anglo-Saxon, 
my  knees  were  shaking.  And  when  Solomon 
and  the  muleteer  had  spread  a  cloth  on  the 
mossy  bank,  and  deposited  thereon  cold  tongue 
and  chicken  and  buttered  rolls,  with  oranges, 
figs,  and  walnut  kernels ;  and  when  my  brother 
and  I  were  squatting  at  that  repast,  and  my 
perturbation  was  yielding  to  the  influence  of 
nourishment — I  ventilated  the  grievance  that  lay 
heavy  on  my  mind. 

This  time  it  was  no  use  for  any  one  to  suggest 
that  I  had  not  pulled  at  the  reins — for  I  had. 
I  begged  to  state  an  emphatic  opinion  that  a 
wrong  sort  of  horse  had  been  provided  for  me. 
When  my  brother  and  I  gave  instructions  to 
Messrs.  Cook  in  London,  we  distinctly  mentioned 
that,  lacking  experience  in  the  saddle,  we  did 
not  look  for  speed  or  high-bred  action  in  our 
mounts ;  we  wanted  two  old  stagers  who  would 
just  jog  along  peacefully  and  do  as  they  were 
told.  For  my  part,  as  I  informed  the  dragoman, 
I  should  have  been  quite  content  with  a  vener- 
able, rheumatic  beast.  At  which  he  smiled. 
At  which — with  my  present  knowledge  of  the 
ground  to  be  covered  in  Palestine — I  also  can 
smile. 

Solomon  had  been  conferring  privately  with 
the  muleteer — whose  name,  by  the  way,  he 
6 


82       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

mentioned  as  Mahomet — and  the  upshot  of 
those  deliberations  was  now  communicated  to 
us.  The  horse  was  right  enough,  Mahomet 
averred;  though  by  an  oversight — for  which  he 
took  the  blame  and  offered  his  apologies — the 
animal  had  been  given  a  European  bridle,  instead 
of  the  Arab  pattern  to  which  he  was  accustomed. 
The  fault  should  be  remedied  on  the  morrow, 
and  for  the  rest  of  that  day's  journey,  if  I 
would  pardon  the  indignity,  my  horse  should  be 
tethered  to  his. 

This  proposal  won  my  ready  assent,  and  during 
the  remainder  of  our  journey  to  Acre,  two  yards 
of  rope  hung  between  my  horse  and  that  of  the 
muleteer.  Thus  I  answered  to  the  aspect  of  a 
captured  brigand,  or  rather — I  hope  Mahomet 
would  excuse  me  for  saying — a  brigand's  captive. 
However,  let  occasional  wayfarers  stare  their 
hardest,  the  arrangement  suited  me,  giving  that 
sense  of  personal  security  without  which  the 
choicest  scenery  is  offered  to  unseeing  eyes. 


ACRE 


CHAPTER  VI 

Acre  and  Afterwards 

Our  transplanted  camp — Curiosity  sternly  repressed— Historical 
predecessors — Acre  at  night— Venerable  battlements — Peering 
at  murderers — Remarkable  rain — We  resume  our  journey — An 
accomplished  muleteer— Our  guides  lose  the  way — Conflicting 
advisers — Injuring  the  oppressed — A  hurricane  of  hail— My 
lonely  stroll— Flowers  and  solitude — A  strange  meeting — 
Unsavoury  Shefa-Amr — A  message  from  the  Governor. 

\  CRE,  as  it  lay  ahead  of  us  in  the  twilight, 
^"*"  looked  so  interesting  that,  when  we  had 
arrived  within  a  stone's  throw  of  its  venerable 
walls,  I  felt  the  thrill  of  one  about  to  be 
surprised  by  strange  sights.  But  the  sight  I 
next  minute  beheld,  so  far  from  being  strange, 
was  only  surprising  because  so  familiar. 

Solomon,  at  the  head  of  our  party,  had 
abruptly  quitted  the  straight  path  to  lead  us 
up  a  grassy  mound  ;  and  on  the  plateau  we 
found  the  identical  encampment — tents,  men, 
mules  and  charcoal  fire — we  had  left  on  the  sea- 

83 


84       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

shore  at  Haifa.  Nay,  on  entering  our  sleeping- 
apartment  my  brother  and  I  found  all  our  personal 
belongings  just  where  we  had  placed  them  ;  and 
already  the  cloth  was  laid,  and  the  candles 
burning,  in  our  pleasant  dining-pavilion. 

Enough  daylight  remained  to  reveal  the 
summit  of  the  mound  as  circular  and  spacious ; 
and,  while  waiting  for  dinner  to  be  served,  I 
strolled  off  to  explore  our  new  environment. 
Nor  was  it  long  before,  having  come  to  the  limit 
of  level  ground,  I  confronted  a  group  of  men 
and  boys  standing,  full  of  passive  curiosity,  on 
the  dip  of  the  land.  But  Solomon  came  quickly 
after  me,  to  utter  confidential  warnings  anent 
the  wisdom  of  taking  no  notice  of  those  people, 
as  to  whose  probity,  it  was  clear,  he  entertained 
grave  misgivings.  Having  whispered  to  me  in 
English,  he  shouted  at  them  in  Arabic,  and 
shouted  in  a  tone  of  such  stern  reproof  that  I 
was  curious  to  learn  the  purport  of  his  words. 

"  I  tell  them,"  he  explained,  "  that  we  not 
stand  any  nonsense  from  them,  and  if  they  come 
nearer  to  the  tents  by  only  one  yard  we  send 
them  to  prison." 

It  seemed  rather  a  high-handed  way  of  treat- 
ing people  who,  though  I  must  admit  they 
looked  sullen,  presumably  had  as  much  right 
on  that  hill  as  we  had.  I  should  certainly, 
had  I  been  given  any  voice  in  the  matter,  have 
favoured  a  more  tolerant,  not  to  say  courteous, 


Acre  and  Afterwards  85 

attitude  towards  the  inhabitants  of  a  country 
where,  after  all,  we  were  uninvited  guests.  But 
I  took  it  that  Solomon  knew  best. 

It  seemed — for  my  companion's  talk  became 
historical  on  our  way  back  to  the  tents — that 
we  were  by  no  means  the  first  persons  who 
had  encamped  on  that  eminence,  Richard  Cceur 
de  Lion  and  Napoleon  Bonaparte  having  both 
been  there  before  us.  Our  attitude  towards 
the  inhabitants  at  any  rate  compared  favourably 
with  theirs.  Which  reminds  me,  if  the  Bible 
gives  us  only  peaceful  glimpses  of  the  Acre  of 
antiquity,  the  later  history  of  that  "key  to 
Palestine"  is  an  awful  record  of  siege  upon 
siege,  with  human  slaughter  unthinkable.  But 
over  its  gloomy  history  there  broods  the  glamour 
of  mediaeval  romance.  For,  fed  by  the  blood  of 
the  Crusaders,  chivalry  blossomed  at  Acre. 

Going  forth  on  foot  after  dinner,  we  soon 
came  to  a  grim  old  entrance-gate  set  in  a  great 
battlemented  wall  which,  if  time  had  bitten 
deeply  into  its  crumbling  surface,  was  built  of 
a  solid  thickness  that  defied  the  centuries. 
Pointing  with  his  stick,  Solomon  showed  us 
hyssop  growing  on  the  top  of  those  venerable 
fortifications.  He  was  also  concerned  that  we 
should  notice  a  structural  feature  of  the  wall, 
to  wit,  narrow  apertures  which,  besides  serving 
as  sheltered  places  of  observation,  gave  oppor- 
tunity for  discharging  bolts  at  any  invader  who 


86       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

sought  to  force  the  gate.  But  it  was  their 
name,  and  not  their  purpose,  to  which  he  drew 
our  attention,  claiming  that  one  of  such  slits 
in  the  masonry  was  the  "  eye  of  a  needle " 
intended  to  be  associated,  in  hallowed  language 
of  imagery,  with  the  passage  of  a  camel. 

Solomon's  memory,  indeed,  as  later  occasions 
served  to  demonstrate,  was  richly  stored  with 
Syrian  folk-lore ;  but  since  speculative  erudition 
lies  outside  the  scope  of  this  record,  1  should 
not  have  quoted  his  testimony  save  for  an 
indirect  significance  that  belonged  to  it. 

As  we  stood  there  in  the  yellow  lamplight, 
surrounded  by  shadows  and  mystery,  gowned 
figures  came  and  went  with  silent  tread ;  and, 
on  looking  through  the  archway,  I  saw  other 
gowned  figures  just  within  the  city,  squatting 
on  the  ground  beneath  a  canopy  of  reeds  and 
sticks.  Those  people  of  to-day  were  linked  by 
tradition  with  the  people  who  dwelt  at  Acre 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  as  in  times  more 
remote.  And  Solomon's  words  served  to  deepen 
a  feeling  that  ithings  as  we  saw  them  must, 
in  general  aspect,  reproduce  the  image  of  the 
Acre  of  old.  For  one  stone  wall  is  like  another, 
and  the  principle  of  an  unembellished  arch 
admits  of  no  variety.  As  for  the  clothing  of 
that  solemn,  brown-skinned  people,  it  was  so 
rich  in  archaic  suggestion  that  the  imagination 
instinctively   accepted   it   as   a   style   inherited 


Acre  and  Afterwards  87 

from  early  ages.  Any  alteration  in  that  respect 
seemed  scarce  more  probable  than  that  the  blue 
sky  and  sunshine  of  Palestine,  and  its  night-time 
firmament  of  stars,  had  changed  since  the  days 
when  Jesus  saw  them. 

Having  entered  at  the  gate,  we  soon  became 
aware  of  an  element  in  the  population  that 
had  been  lacking  at  Haifa.  Turkish  soldiers, 
armed  with  long  guns,  stood  here  and  there  on 
guard,  and  we  saw  others  passing  through  the 
streets  in  squads.  For  Acre,  true  to  its  history 
and  fortifications,  remains  a  military  city. 

Our  saunter  introduced  us  to  much  that  was 
picturesque ;  but  one  place  we  saw  left  a  shadow 
on  our  minds.  Coming  to  a  gate,  we  looked 
between  its  iron  bars  at  human  creatures  who 
carried  themselves  with  a  subdued  and  dismal 
air.  In  skinny,  suppliant  hands,  they  held  out 
specimens  of  ornamental  woodwork  for  our 
inspection.  It  was  a  prison,  and  they  were 
murderers — Solomon  said — and  travellers  were 
wont  to  purchase  examples  of  their  handicraft. 
My  brother  and  I,  however,  felt  no  desire  for 
mementoes  of  misery,  the  more  so  as  our  glance 
at  the  articles  failed  to  discern  in  them  any 
redeeming  grace  of  colour  or  design. 

Passing  to  pleasanter  experiences,  we  saw  men 
by  the  wayside  selling  doves  ;  we  went  in  and 
out  among  winding  bazaars  which,  if  dirty 
under  foot,  were  full  of  Oriental  charm ;    and, 


88       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

peeping  in  at  the  Mosque  of  Jezzar,  we  beheld 
a  courtyard  paved  with  choice  mosaic,  where  a 
fountain  stood  amid  palms  and  peace.  These 
sights  were  all  strange  and  precious  to  my 
brother  and  myself,  if  wholly  unremarkable  to 
Solomon  the  Syrian.  And  thus  fate  seemed 
aiming  at  an  emotional  adjustment  as  between 
him  and  ourselves  when,  a  little  later,  some- 
thing happened  that  he  found  amazing  and  we 
considered  commonplace  enough. 

It  began  to  rain — a  state  of  things,  it  would 
seem,  to  which  Palestine  is  unaccustomed  at  that 
time  of  year.  What  is  more,  it  continued  to 
rain,  so  that  Solomon,  finding  himself  getting 
wet,  was  all  in  a  fidget  until  we  set  off  for  home. 
For  home,  I  say,  though  in  truth  that  word 
slipped  unauthorized  from  my  pen.  But  certainly 
our  tents  earned  the  compliment  that  night,  for 
though  the  rain  persisted  in  heavy  volume,  and 
violent  wind  arose,  our  canvas  was  proof  against 
those  attacks. 

Of  Acre  we  had  fuller  knowledge  on  the 
following  day,  when  we  pushed  our  explorations 
through  ancient  cellars  and  dungeons  that 
brought  us  into  view  of  the  dainty  little  harbour, 
where  small  sailing  craft  were  tossing  at  anchor 
in  the  sprightly  breeze.  Hard  by,  heaps  of 
stones  and  mortar  were  associated  with  battered 
remnants  of  walls — it  being  manifest  that  the 
inhabitants  had  not  tidied  up  that  part  of  their 


Acre  and  Afterwards  89 

town  since  the  last  bombardment,  which  occurred 
in  1840. 

On  espying  travellers,  certain  youthful  Syrians 
came  upon  the  scene,  and,  with  great  wealth 
of  gesture,  pointed  to  iron  missiles  embedded 
in  the  masonry,  these  missiles — according  to 
Solomon's  interpretation  of  the  youngsters'  talk 
— being  shells  fired  from  British  men-of-war. 
Those  lads  of  Acre,  who  recognized  us  for 
Englishmen,  apparently  wanted  to  know — if  one 
might  judge  by  an  air  of  expectation  in  their 
bearing — what  we  were  going  to  do  about  it ;  and 
in  the  circumstances  I  felt  that  a  bishlik  between 
them  was  the  least  reparation  I  could  offer. 

When,  at  ten  o'clock  next  morning,  we 
emerged  for  the  last  time  through  the  gate 
of  Acre,  it  seemed  that  many  days  had  gone 
by  since  first  we  came  to  that  city.  Yet,  if 
I  felt  we  had  stayed  there  longer  than  we  had, 
I  shared  my  brother's  regret  that  we  could 
stay  there  no  longer.  We  had  been  able  only 
to  glance  at  scenes  we  fain  would  have  lingered 
over.  But  in  advocating  a  judicious  allotment 
of  our  time,  Solomon  uttered  counsel  of  which 
we  recognized  the  weight ;  and,  as  had  been 
arranged  at  breakfast,  there  on  the  road  was 
Mahomet  with  the  horses.  Thus  was  1  called 
upon  to  resume  the  practice  of  an  art  towards 
which  my  relations  had  become  somewhat 
complicated. 


90       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

On  looking  at  my  steed,  I  saw  a  curb  of 
new  shape  in  his  mouth.  But  also  I  thought 
I  saw  the  old  madness  in  his  eyes.  So,  letting 
dignity  go  to  the  winds,  I  decided  once  more 
to  be  led,  if  the  muleteer  would  consent  to 
resume  the  office  of  custodian.  For,  as  I  com- 
forted my  self-esteem  by  reflecting,  I  had  come 
to  Palestine  to  see  the  country,  and  not  to 
place  my  life  at  the  mercy  of  an  animal  whose 
sanity  I  doubted. 

Mahomet  offered  no  objection  to  my  request, 
and  soon  our  horses  were  walking  away  from 
Acre  with  us  upon  their  backs.  This  time  we 
journeyed  inland,  over  ground  of  a  rising 
gradient,  and  presently  I  saw,  on  turning  my 
head,  the  blue  expanse  of  the  Mediterranean 
lying  behind  us,  while,  away  to  the  right, 
Mount  Carmel  loomed  green  and  lofty.  But 
the  scenery  did  not  monopolize  my  attention. 
I  found  myself  regarding  Mahomet  with  an 
interest  that  ripened  into  admiration — admiration 
both  of  himself  and  his  horse.  The  brave 
beast,  in  addition  to  its  human  burden,  was 
carrying  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  that  were  all 
abulge  with  my  brother's  sketching  paraphernalia, 
our  macintoshes,  two  cameras  and  tripods,  the 
lunch,  and  an  assortment  of  feeding  and  cooking 
utensils. 

For  Mahomet  to  bestride  his  quadruped  in  the 
usual  manner  was  out  of  the  question.     He  had 


Acre  and  Afterwards 


9i 


to  balance  himself  how  best  he  could  while 
sitting  with  his  legs  stretched  straight  and  his 
heels  in  the  region  of  the  horse's  mane.  To 
be  situated  so  precariously  on  that  heap  of 
swaying  luggage  would  have  tried  the  nerve  and 
patience  of  most  persons,  even  without  the 
nuisance  of  having  another  horse  on  one's  hands, 
or  rather  heels ;  but  Mahomet  comported  him- 


ONE  OF  THE  CITY  GATES,  ACRE 


92       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

self  with  jaunty  indifference,  accompanied  by 
snatches  of  song. 

Every  now  and  then  he  would  lean  back  to 
flick  my  horse  with  the  end  of  the  tow  rope ; 
not  because  the  beast  had  done  anything  to 
deserve  it,  but  merely,  as  I  gathered,  by  way 
of  reminder  that,  whatever  it  might  think  of  the 
gentleman  on  its  back,  the  person  on  ahead  was 
its  master. 

The  even  tenor  of  our  progress  was  not 
long  maintained.  Arriving  on  ground  that  was 
soft  and  saturated,  Solomon  and  Mahomet 
realized  that  they  had  lost  the  way ;  or  rather — 
to  judge  by  the  tone  in  which  they  addressed 
one  another — each  realized  that  the  other  had 
lost  the  way.  Nor  were  they  of  one  mind 
as  to  the  direction  in  which  they  were  likely 
to  find  it ;  the  dragoman  indignantly  proceeding 
across  some  ploughed  land,  while  the  muleteer 
continued  doggedly  to  ford  the  morass.  Each 
soon  varied  his  direction,  and  some  rather  com- 
plicated evolutions  occupied  them  for  about 
ten  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  time  it  began 
to  rain.  A  more  favourable  circumstance  was 
that  Solomon  descried,  not  very  far  away,  some 
picturesque  figures  with  a  donkey,  to  whom  he 
hastened  in  search  of  geographical  guidance  ;  and 
when  he  presently  returned,  with  a  face  of 
restored  calm,  we  all  set  off  by  a  route  the 
strangers  had  recommended. 


Acre  and  Afterwards  93 

Nor  did  we  suffer  any  further  hindrance  until, 
on  falling  in  with  certain  other  picturesque 
figures,  this  time  accompanied  by  camels,  the 
muleteer,  not  to  miss  so  favourable  an  oppor- 
tunity for  confirming  the  information  already 
received,  asked  them  if  we  were  going  right 
for  Shefa-Amr.  And  no  knowledge  of  Arabic 
was  necessary  to  gather  that,  in  their  opinion, 
we  were  going  hopelessly  wrong. 

Once  more  Solomon  and  Mahomet  entered 
upon  a  conference  that  had  much  in  common 
with  a  controversy,  and  whereof  the  upshot  sur- 
prised me.  For,  setting  his  face  against  both 
routes  indicated  by  our  conflicting  advisers, 
Solomon  led  us  off  on  an  independent  course 
of  his  own  devising.  Its  chief  demerit,  in  my 
eyes,  was  that  it  lay  across  an  area  on  which 
rows  of  barley  seedlings  were  showing  green  and 
conspicuous  against  the  brown  earth.  But  when 
I  called  out  to  him  that  we  were  assuredly  going 
over  somebody's  cultivated  land,  he  replied  that 
he  knew  we  were,  but  it  didn't  matter;  his 
philosophy  on  the  subject  being,  as  I  was  after- 
wards to  learn,  that  the  meek  pastoral  people 
of  Palestine  were  already  so  oppressed  by  the 
Turk  that  such  a  little  thing  as  trampling  down 
their  crops  did  not  count — a  view  of  the  case, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  that  had  no  very  sure 
foundation  in  ethics. 

A  second,  but  by  no  means  secondary,  claim 


94       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

on  my  attention  was  made  by  the  rain,  which 
was  now  descending  in  considerable  volume.  In- 
deed, for  a  climate  that  had  not  had  much 
practice,  so  to  speak,  it  was  a  very  creditable 
downpour.  What  with  the  wind,  and  the  chilli- 
ness caused  by  rain-drops  trickling  down  one's 
neck,  we  might  have  been  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland.  Both  Solomon  and  Mahomet,  by 
some  ingenious  adaptation  of  their  Eastern 
toilet,  had  become  cloaked  figures ;  and,  in  the 
circumstances,  my  brother  and  I  felt  justified 
in  calling  a  halt,  even  in  that  barley-field,  to 
demand  and  don  our  macintoshes. 

On  presently  coming  in  sight  of  a  great 
stretch  of  rising  ground,  our  two  guides  were 
agreed  in  believing  that  they  knew  where  they 
were ;  and,  fraternal  relations  being  re-estab- 
lished by  this  discovery,  my  brother  and  I  an- 
nounced that,  after  so  much  zigzagging  about 
in  quest  of  a  lost  trail,  we  were  feeling  rather 
hungry.  However,  pleading  the  need  for  shelter, 
Solomon  decided  that  we  must  not  have  our 
lunch  just  yet ;  and,  ten  minutes  later,  we  felt 
glad  he  had  taken  that  view. 

For  the  rain  became  tropical,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  hail,  which  pelted  us  so  unmercifully 
at  the  propulsion  of  a  head  wind  that  our  dis- 
tressed horses  declined  to  face  it,  and  were 
reduced  to  the  curious  expedient  of  walking 
sideways — a    course    in    which    they    persisted 


Acre  and  Afterwards  95 

until,  on  the  downpour  assuming  hurricane 
violence,  they  came  to  a  dead  stop.  And  there 
they  stood,  quaking  with  bowed  heads,  during 
the  fury  of  that  deluge. 

The  storm  ended  abruptly,  and  four  satu- 
rated travellers  resumed  their  journey,  coming 
presently  to  a  short  length  of  ancient  stone 
wall — the  one  feature  of  variety  in  a  lonely 
landscape.     So  there  they  halted  for  lunch. 

Probably  most  persons,  when  travelling  through 
a  strange  country  in  a  train,  have  felt  how  much 
they  would  like  to  get  out  and  walk.  It  all 
looks  so  interesting  that  one  wants  to  get 
closer — to  be  inside  those  scenes,  instead  of 
merely  passing  them  by.  On  horseback  I  had 
been  having  much  the  same  sense  of  oppor- 
tunities denied.  And  so,  finishing  lunch  before 
the  others,  I  decided  to  take  a  short  stroll.  To 
be  alone  with  Palestine  for  awhile,  to  feel  its 
herbage  under  the  soles  of  my  feet,  to  hold 
some  of  its  flowers  in  the  palm  of  my  hand — 
those  were  the  experiences  I  was  longing  for. 

An  open  stretch  of  treeless  country  lay  on 
our  left,  as  also  behind  and  ahead,  along  the 
route  we  were  traversing ;  but  immediately  on 
the  right  was  rising  ground  that  shut  off  the 
view,  and  endowed  what  lay  beyond  with  the 
fascination  of  the  unknown.  I  walked  up  that 
slope. 

Nor  had  I  gone  far  before,  as  on  looking  back 


96       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

I  discovered,  the  billowy  contour  of  the  hill 
had  placed  my  companions  out  of  sight.  And 
in  no  direction  was  any  man,  or  beast,  or 
habitation  visible.  I  stood  alone  in  the  silence, 
with  only  the  sky  and  the  green  earth  about 
me ;  and  in  those  moments  of  perfect  peace  I 
was  indeed  in  the  Holy  Land. 

Onward  I  went,  very  glad.  The  grass  was 
at  that  stage  of  advanced  and  rapid  growth 
when  the  unbroken  blades  are  vivid  green,  and 
the  slender  tall  stalks  are  burdened  with  their 
trembling  trusses  of  seed.  Amid  the  grass  were 
brilliant  flowers — anemones,  marguerites,  and 
bugloss.  As  I  walked,  the  thought  of  snakes 
came  to  me,  so  that  I  trod  cautiously,  with  my 
eyes  to  the  ground.  And  thus  it  happened 
that  the  approach  of  a  human  being  was  un- 
noted by  me  until,  on  chancing  to  raise  my 
head,  I  was  startled  to  see  him — a  strange  figure 
in  dilapidated  vestments,  a  man  of  dark  visage, 
who  held  in  his  right  hand  a  great  curved  blade 
of  shining  steel,  and  was  bearing  down  on  me 
with  long  strides. 

Being  unprovided  with  so  much  as  a  walking- 
stick,  I  recognized  the  pathetic  disadvantage  at 
which  I  should  stand  were  his  behaviour  to  prove 
as  warlike  as  his  looks.  A  few  anxious  seconds 
later,  and  we  had  met. 

Had  I  known  the  necessary  Arabic  words, 
I  should  certainly  have  wished  him  good  after- 


Acre  and  Afterwards  97 

noon,  little  as  that  stern,  impassive  face  invited 
a  friendly  greeting.  We  met,  I  say  ;  but  it  was 
scarcely  a  meeting.  Neither  of  us  stopped,  or 
paused,  or  smiled,  or  spoke.  And  we  passed  so 
close  to  one  another  that  his  brown  garments 
almost  touched  me.  When,  a  minute  later,  I 
turned  my  head,  his  long  legs  had  carried  him 
out  of  sight  beyond  a  brow  of  the  hill. 

I  wonder  why  that  husbandman  with  his 
sickle — for,  on  reflection,  I  decided  he  could  be 
nothing  else — was  moving  with  such  expedition 
on  so  straight  a  course,  like  a  scout  who  was 
following  a  trail.  And  I  wonder  how,  behind 
that  mask  of  stolid  indifference,  he  accounted 
for  finding  a  lonely  Western  foreigner  loitering 
about  in  that  solitude.  For  my  part,  it  was 
as  though  I  had  met  some  stealthy,  dumb  being 
from  another  planet. 

On  rejoining  my  companions,  and  relating  the 
experience,  I  had  to  submit  to  earnest  upbraidings 
from  Solomon,  who  hinted  at  robbery  and  violence 
as  dangers  to  be  feared  from  his  countrymen,  in 
whom,  it  would  seem,  he  had  little  confidence. 

Our  afternoon  journey  lay,  for  the  most  part, 
across  bare  hills  where,  on  sunny  banks,  corn- 
flowers and  iris  bloomed  in  profusion.  Evening 
had  come  when,  after  a  long  spell  of  uphill 
travelling,  we  entered  upon  a  path  rudely  paved 
with  stones.  Still  ascending,  we  were  soon  in 
a  malodorous  region  of  mud  houses  where  the 
7 


98       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

narrow  roadway  was  slippery  with  filth,  and  our 
ascent  was  watched  by  an  inert,  untidy  people. 
We  were  wending  our  way  into  a  dirty  and 
dismal  town  that  looked  uncivilized  and  smelt 
pestilential. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  on  a  small  area  of  open 
ground,  we  found  our  encampment,  surrounded 
by  a  boisterous  mob  of  slovenly  juveniles,  who 
at  once  received  attentions  from  Solomon.  His 
dignified  remonstrances  failed,  however,  to  arrest 
the  chorus  of  ribald  defiance,  and  it  was  in  great 
indignation  and  hot  haste  that  he  went  off  to 
ventilate  our  grievance  in  official  quarters. 

Of  those  representations  we  perceived  the 
value  when  he  presently  showed  us  a  card  that 
bore  the  words  :  "  Saied  Mohammad  Salim,  al- 
Qunsy,  Governor  of  Shefa-Amr."  On  turning 
it,  we  read  this  reassuring  message : 

"  Mr.  Thos.  Cook  and  Son — I  have  sent  you 
two  soldier  for  serving  you.  Respect  our  sincere 
affection." 

At  once  the  populace  ceased  to  trouble  us  ; 
and  we  dined  and  slept  that  night  in  peace. 


OUR  FIRST  VIEW  OF  NAZARETH 

CHAPTER  VII 

Nazareth 

Luxury  in  barbarism — Domestic  life  in  a  tent — Loading  mule — 
The  Protestant  school  at  Shefa-Amr — Visiting  the  hill  tombs  — 
Travelling  amid  birds  and  flowers — Wayside  friends — Looking 
down  at  Nazareth— Gentle-mannered  girls  and  boys — A  city 
of  kindness  and  smiles — The  leper — Mary's  Well — Primitive 
carpenters'  shops — Distressing  pretensions — The  Protestant 
Orphanage — A  missionary  of  the  minority. 

l^TEXT  morning  found  me  in  a  state  of  glad- 
•*■  ^  ness  and  wonder,  touched  just  lightly  by 
a  guilty  feeling. 

I  had  come  to  Palestine — the  most  interesting 
country  in  the  world — and  still  did  I  feel  the 
thrill  of  a  momentous  experience.  Nay,  that 
thrill  had  been  quickened  at  sight  of  this  little 
town  on  the  top  of  a  rock-strewn  hill.  Yet, 
with  its  rude  dwellings,  its  uncouth  and  jeering 
rabble,  and  its  crooked  byways  of  filth  and  loose 

99 


ioo    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

stones,  Shefa-Amr  was  appalling  rather  than 
pleasing.  Indeed,  to  my  European  eyes,  it  was, 
in  all  externals,  frankly  barbarous.  And  from  a 
recognition  of  that  very  fact  came  the  hint  of 
personal  uneasiness  that  accompanied  my  grateful 
exaltation. 

This  is  what  happened.  I  was  awakened  by 
the  voice  of  Solomon,  saying  he  had  brought 
our  warm  water,  and  breakfast  would  soon  be 
ready ;  whereupon,  throwing  aside  my  mosquito 
canopy,  I  beheld  his  cheerful  countenance,  in  a 
setting  of  morning  sunshine,  at  the  entrance  to 
the  tent.  Standing  on  the  wide  stretch  of 
comfortable  Turkish  rug,  we  had  use  of  ewers 
and  mirrors  and  brushes,  and  all  other  accus- 
tomed amenities  of  the  toilet,  as  set  out  in 
orderly  duplicate  array  on  twin  tables  draped 
with  crimson. 

And  anon  we  had  passed  from  one  commodious 
pavilion  to  another,  and  were  seated  at  a  repast, 
spread  on  a  snow-white  tablecloth,  in  which 
grilled  kidneys,  boiled  eggs,  and  sardines  were 
associated  with  hot  rolls,  buttered  toast,  a  choice 
of  preserves,  a  dish  of  delicious  Jaffa  oranges, 
and  coffee  served  in  a  silver  urn.  And  a  few 
yards  away,  and  all  round  about  us,  was — 
barbarism. 

It  did  not  seem  fair.  Who  was  I — and,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  who  was  my  brother — that 
we,  mere  uninvited  visitors  in  the  land  of  that 


Nazareth  101 

backward  people,  should  be  singled  out  for  the 
enjoyment  of  all  these  selfish  corporalities  ?  How 
came  it  that  we  could  not  go  a  few  hours  without 
creature  comforts  that  these  poor  Moslems  and 
Druses  had  lacked  for  centuries  ?  Was  it  not 
enough  that  we  had  lived  all  our  days  in  the  lap 
of  Western  civilization,  without  bringing  the 
personal  luxuries  of  that  civilization  into  remote 
places  of  the  East  ?  And  bringing  them,  be  it 
noted,  in  exaggerated  profusion ;  for  I  would 
ask  the  reader  to  believe  that,  in  mine  own 
home  in  England,  I  am  wont  to  break  my  fast 
under  conditions  of  greater  simplicity  than  are 
represented  by  the  appetizing  alternatives  enumer- 
ated above. 

And  if  some  misgiving  underlay  my  enjoyment 
of  the  good  things  provided  for  us,  the  matter  of 
how  they  were  provided  was  still  a  mystery  to 
me.  Indeed,  the  supreme  interest  of  being  in 
Palestine  had  left  me  incurious  and  unobservant 
concerning  minor  matters.  Yet  it  happened 
that,  ere  we  departed  from  Shefa-Amr,  I  was  to 
have  some  insight  into  the  elaborate  routine  on 
which  our  domestic  affairs  reposed. 

On  emerging  from  the  tent,  my  brother, 
entranced  by  the  view  of  the  valley,  straightway 
fetched  paints  and  easel  and  got  to  work.  Then 
Solomon,  on  learning  how  much  I  should  like  to 
visit  the  Protestant  school,  bade  me  wait  while 
he  went  first  to  learn  if  the  children  were  there. 


io2     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

And  while  I  was  waiting,  my  attention  was 
engaged  by  the  vigorous  activities  of  four  of  our 
servants.  They  were  collapsing  the  tents,  and 
doubling  up  the  areas  of  canvas  into  huge 
bundles.  Already  one  mule  was,  as  it  seemed, 
in  process  of  burial  beneath  the  conglomeration 
of  bundles,  boxes,  trunks,  and  poles  that  were 
being  built  about  him.  The  uncomplaining 
beast  stood  firm,  as  the  basis  of  the  structure— 
the  guiding  principle  with  the  men  manifestly 
being  that  each  hundredweight  or  so  added  on 
one  side  must  be  promptly  counterpoised  by  a 
corresponding  supplement  on  the  other.  Other- 
wise the  balance  of  the  poor  mule  would  be 
endangered.  To  my  inexperience  it  seemed 
strange  that  his  spine  did  not  snap. 

Solomon  coming  back,  he  and  I  went  to- 
gether up  one  of  the  winding  alleys,  slippery 
with  mire,  until  we  came  to  a  gate  in  a  wall  of 
loose  stones.  This  gave  entrance  to  a  little 
enclosure  which,  if  evidence  of  cultivation  were 
limited,  was  nevertheless  a  garden,  and  therefore 
a  welcome  thing  to  see  in  grey,  forbidding 
Shefa-Amr.  In  the  house  an  English  lady 
welcomed  us,  and  soon  was  confessing  how  hard 
a  fight  she  had  of  it  against  superstition  and 
mental  darkness.  But  the  light  of  kindness  in 
her  eyes  spoke  of  hope  in  her  heart,  and  I  knew 
I  need  not  pity  her. 

Shefa-Amr  she  identified  with   Haphram  of 


Nazareth  103 

the  Book  of  Joshua  and  Shafram  of  the  time  of 
Christ ;  and  I  was  enjoined  to  see  the  rock  tombs 
on  the  hill- side,  whither,  it  seemed,  this  gentle 
lady  often  went  to  sit  and  meditate,  and  watch 
pretty  little  birds  of  which,  as  she  was  fain 
smilingly  to  admit,  she  did  not  know  the  genus. 
Also  she  told  me  of  the  discovery,  in  one  of  the 
tombs,  of  the  glass  image  of  a  man,  and  of  the 
awe  and  terror  with  which  local  fanaticism  had 
beheld  it.  We  went  into  the  schoolroom,  and  I 
retain  the  mental  picture  of  fifty  little  children 
sitting,  solemn  and  subdued,  and  saying  the 
Lord's  Prayer  in  Arabic. 

Returning  to  our  camping-ground,  I  found 
the  long  line  of  our  laden  quadrupeds — five 
mules  and  two  sturdy  donkeys — about  to  depart 
down  the  hill,  in  the  custody  of  two  muleteers 
on  foot  (wild-looking  men  in  ragged  brown 
raiment),  and  with  Simon  the  cook  on  horse- 
back, and  George  the  waiter  squatting  atop 
boxes  and  baggage  on  one  of  the  beasts  of 
burden. 

Our  own  four  horses  were  tethered  on  the 
camping  -  ground,  and  presently  —  when  my 
brother's  sketch  was  done  —  we  released  and 
mounted  them,  and  set  off  in  the  wake  of  our 
vanished  caravan,  Mahomet  (his  bulging  saddle- 
bags containing  sketching  materials,  cameras, 
and  lunch)  leading  the  way.  Past  hedges  of 
cactus  and  walls  of  heaped  stones,  we  followed 


104    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

the  winding  descent  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley, 
when  my  brother,  Solomon,  and  I  handed  over 
our  horses  to  the  muleteer,  that  he  might  mind 
them  while  we  were  gone  to  see  the  tombs. 

In  that  tangle  of  weeds  it  were  easy  enough 
to  miss  the  lowly  mouths  of  those  ancient 
sepulchres.  Stooping,  we  peered  into  roomy 
chambers  hollowed  out  of  the  solid  rock, 
(chambers  with  divisions  and  recesses),  while 
within  and  without  we  saw  worn  and  moss- 
grown  carvings  of  crosses,  lions,  and  grape-vines 
growing  in  pots. 

Once  more  in  the  saddle,  we  soon  were  out  of 
sight  of  Shefa-Amr,  and  well  started  on  our 
journey.  The  recent  heavy  rains  had  left  the 
low  lands  swampy,  and  for  a  mile  or  so  our 
sure-footed  animals  made  their  slow  way 
through  water  and  yielding  mud.  Gaining 
higher  ground,  we  found  our  path  encumbered 
by  stones,  with  many  a  dainty  flower  growing 
by  the  wayside. 

It  was  a  glorious  landscape.  On  our  right 
the  far  sweep  of  Mount  Carmel  loomed  purple 
and  imposing.  On  our  left,  in  receding  depths 
of  blue,  were  the  hills  of  Galilee,  lacking  only 
heather  in  their  resemblance  to  the  Scotch 
Highlands.  Hawks  floated  stationary  against 
the  sky,  dapper  little  wrens  and  wagtails  took 
wing  at  our  approach,  an  occasional  eagle,  strong 
and  solitary,  crossed   our  path,  and  I  saw  some 


Nazareth  105 

dark-coloured  butterflies.     But  the  flowers  were 
my  chief  delight. 

Out  of  that  rich  brown  earth,  indeed,  sprang 
a  luxuriant  vegetation  spangled  with  various 
blooms.  Single  anemones  were  the  frequent 
spots  of  vivid  scarlet.  Clusters  of  white  and 
mauve  cyclamen  grew  among  the  lichen-splashed 
rocks.  Cornflowers  were  the  dark-blue  patches, 
dwarf  iris  the  light.  And  the  banks  were  pink 
and  pretty  with  cistus,  which  some  persons 
identify  with  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  though  per- 
haps the  narcissus  has  a  stronger  claim  to  the 
distinction. 

Reaching  undulations,  we  passed  many  cul- 
tivated areas,  and  went  through  a  little  copse, 
fragrant  of  earth  and  leaves,  that  might  have 
been  in  Surrey.  Then  we  came  to  a  large  pond, 
bordered  by  a  stretch  of  grass  that  offered  good 
grazing  for  our  horses.  So  here  we  stopped 
for  lunch ;  and,  after  the  meal,  I  went  on  tiptoe 
to  the  water's  edge,  curious  to  learn  what 
manner  of  birds  were  uttering  the  strange 
medley  of  cries  and  pipings.  Frogs  proved  to 
be  the  explanation. 

It  took  but  a  few  minutes  to  gather  a  glowing 
bouquet  such  as,  in  England,  must  have  come 
from  a  hot-house.  Here  and  there  on  the  grass 
I  noticed  brown  patches  that  proved,  on  a  near 
scrutiny,  thousands  of  little  caterpillars  wriggling 
on  glistening  webs.     Standing  motionless,  I  saw 


io6    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

small  rodents  at  their  excavations.  Beyond  the 
pond,  seven  browsing  camels  moved  sluggishly, 
all  legs  and  neck.  Their  custodian,  an  Arab 
lad  in  venerable  rags  of  various  hues,  stood  fifty 
yards  away,  idly  slashing  the  reeds  with  his 
stick.  Two  middle-aged  Arabs  approached 
along  the  path,  driving  several  lame  brown 
horses ;  and  when  they  espied  Mahomet  resting 
on  the  bank,  they  went  and  squatted  beside 
him.  One  unwrapped  his  hookah,  charged  it 
with  water  from  the  pond,  and  fell  a- smoking, 
the  three  men  hobnobbing  in  Arabic  like  old 
friends. 

On  resuming  our  journey,  we  had  much  dif- 
ficult ground  to  cover.  Sometimes  our  horses 
would  be  staggering  up  and  down  the  rocky  bed 
of  a  dry  water-course.  Also  we  had  to  cross 
slopes  that  were  strewn  liberally  with  boulders. 
And  so  in  time  we  came  to  a  hill  where  allot- 
ment gardens  (as  they  seemed)  were  marked  off 
by  trim  lines  of  cactus. 

On  a  sudden,  when  we  had  reached  the  top, 
my  brother  and  I  cried  out  in  joyful  amazement 
at  the  scene  which  lay  before  us. 

Down  there  we  saw  a  little  city  bathed  in 
warm  afternoon  sunshine — its  square  white 
houses  shining  like  caskets  carved  in  ivory,  with 
olive  groves  of  tender  grey,  pretty  domes  and 
a  few  red  roofs,  and  rows  of  conspicuous  cypress 
trees.     Pearls  on  an  emerald  background  were 


Nazareth  107 

outlying  houses  dotted  about  the  slopes  ;  for 
fourteen  hills  compassed  this  little  city  about, 
save  where,  right  ahead,  the  eye  swept  on  over 
an  expanse  of  flat  green  country  that  died  away 
in  the  soft  tones  of  great  distance. 

It  was  Nazareth.  The  view  opened  out  across 
the  Plain  of  Esdraelon.  Also  we  saw  Mount 
Gilboa.  And,  far  away,  snow-clad  Hermon  rose 
opalescent  into  the  heavens. 

My  brother  and  1  surrendered  our  horses  to 
Solomon  and  Mahomet.  They  knew  why. 
They  were  smiling  their  appreciation  of  our 
enthusiasm.  Then,  unhampered,  and  with 
nothing  to  divide  our  attention,  we  walked 
down  the  sandy  path  that  winds  in  and  out 
among  the  rocks,  leading  to  the  little  city 
below.  Nor  had  we  gone  far  when,  on  passing 
a  projection  in  the  hill-side,  we  came  upon 
two  girls  with  happy  faces ;  and  we  had  our 
welcome  to  Nazareth  in  their  pretty  little  curt- 
sies and  frank,  sweet  smiles.  At  this,  with 
Haifa  and  Acre  and  Shefa-Amr  fresh  in  our 
memory,  we  went  on  our  way  marvelling. 

Farther  down,  when  we  came  among  the 
houses,  we  saw  pretty  children  going  this  way 
and  that,  alert  and  glad.  They  also  gave  us 
their  smiles.  Men  and  women  turned  to  look 
at  us  with  interested  and  friendly  faces. 

Our  tents  were  standing  in  the  city,  on  a 
vacant  area  traversed  by  a  road  and  facing  an 


108     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

ancient  garden  wall.  I  saw  little  lizards  sport- 
ing among  the  herbs  and  mosses  that  grew  in 
the  interstices  of  that  wall.  Demure  girls  came 
presently  to  our  tents,  carrying  dainty  lace 
collars  and  silk  scarves  which  (as  we  were  to 
learn)  they  themselves  had  made;  and  timidly, 
bashfully,  they  brought  these  their  wares  to 
our  notice  when  they  deemed  us  sufficiently  at 
leisure.  Handsome  boys  arrived  later  to  submit 
coins,  tear  bottles,  amethysts,  bronze  bracelets, 
agates,  and  other  relics  from  the  tombs. 

My  brother  and  I  were  full  of  astonishment 
at  the  sweet  faces  and  gentle  manners  of  the 
girls  and  boys  of  Nazareth.  And  it  was  music 
in  our  ears  to  hear  their  many  words  of  English, 
spoken  very  prettily.  Reasonable  prices  were 
asked,  and  gratefully  accepted,  for  the  things 
they  had  to  sell — welcome  change  from  the 
extortionate  claims  whiningly  attempted  else- 
where. 

After  dinner  it  was  still  bright  twilight,  and 
we  saw  a  leper  approaching  slowly  along  the 
road.  When  he  came  before  our  tents  he  stood 
leaning  on  his  stick ;  and  even  that  sadly  dis- 
figured countenance  was  illumined  by  a  kindly 
smile.  And  he  went  his  way,  asking  for  no 
baksheesh. 

Church  bells  were  ringing  in  soft,  silvery  tones 
as  we  walked  to  Mary's  Well ;  and  there  we 
saw  women — lovely  in  flowing,  coloured  robes — 


Nazareth 


109 


come  with  their  pitchers,  marvellously  poised  on 
head,  to  take  toll  of  the  shining  waters. 

It  is  pleasant  to  look,  and  to  look  again, 
at  that  arched  recess  of  venerable  masonry, 
with  the  steps  across  its  little  protecting  wall. 
Well  sites  endure  throughout  the  centuries. 
Jesus  and  His  mother  probably  drew  water 
there. 

On  the  sunken  stone  floor  of  Mary's  Well, 
when  we  returned  there  in  the   morning,   girls 


Kt 


MARY'S  VELL 


no    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

and  women  were  washing  their  clothes  with  busy 
treading  and  beating. 

In  narrow  streets  of  steep  gradient  were  many 
little  shops — hollow  spaces  in  the  wall,  pictur- 
esque and  quaint ;  and  we  saw  the  butcher,  the 
baker,  the  barber,  and  the  man  who  sells  nuts, 
spices,  and  olives.  The  strange  little  market  had 
a  golden  floor  of  oranges.  Going  farther,  we 
found  two  carpenters'  shops  where  primitive 
methods  survived.  Lacking  benches  and  planes, 
the  toilers  sat  upon  the  floor,  fashioning  ploughs 
out  of  untrimmed  wood. 

Hyssop  was  growing  over  a  rain-pipe  of  the 
Annunciation  Church,  and  on  looking  down  one 
of  the  three  wells  in  the  courtyard,  I  found  the 
stonework  beautiful  with  maidenhair  fern.  But, 
alas,  to  go  over  this  and  the  other  Latin 
churches — and  it  is  customary  for  visitors  to  be 
shown  these  sights — was  to  be  distressed  by 
pretensions  which,  if  excusable  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  add  nothing  to  the  sanctity  of  Nazareth  in 
the  present  day.  In  truth,  after  seeing  "  the 
Table  of  Christ,"  "  Mary's  Kitchen,"  "  Joseph's 
Workshop,"  and  "  the  miraculously  suspended 
pillar,"  we  wished  to  erase  their  images  from  our 
minds.  Nor  was  this  difficult.  For  the  charm 
of  that  little  city  fully  engaged  our  attention. 

And  there  was  a  delicious  mystery  that  I 
wanted  to  fathom.  What  made  the  people  so 
human  and  kind,  and  why  were  the  children  so 


i    z 


Nazareth  1 1 1 

happy?  How  came  it  that  Shefa-Amr  and 
Nazareth  differed  as  night  from  day  ?  Why 
was  the  city  of  Jesus'  boyhood  just  what  one 
would  .wish  it  to  be  ?  Where  was  the  modern 
source  of  light — the  light  we  saw  reflected  in  the 
smiles  of  the  little  ones  ? 

With  these  questions  on  my  lips,  I  called 
upon  the  clergyman  of  the  Church  Missionary 
Society,  whom  I  found  in  a  room  that  might 
have  been  the  library  of  an  English  vicarage. 

"  Why/'  he  cried,  enjoying  my  perplexity, 
"  you  evidently  have  not  been  to  the  Orphanage." 
Two  minutes  later,  under  Solomon's  escort,  I 
was  on  my  way  thither. 

Going  up  many  steps,  we  found  the  Orphanage 
standing  among  cypresses  high  up  a  hill.  Seventy 
girls,  with  cheeks  like  peaches,  were  saying  their 
English  reading-lessons.  The  vast  dormitory 
shone  with  whiteness.  I  drank  deep  of  the 
perfume  of  great  wallflowers  growing  among 
lemons  in  the  beautiful  garden.  Birds  flew  in 
and  out  of  the  class-rooms  chirping  and  wel- 
come. 

I  had  seen,  but  still  I  did  not  understand. 
For  was  not  the  overwhelming  majority  of  the 
population  Moslem,  Greek  Church,  and  Latin  ? 
Talking  again  with  that  joyous,  enthusiastic 
missionary,  I  put  question  upon  question,  and  so 
found  my  way  to  the  heart  of  the  mystery. 

In  Nazareth  there  is  a  large  Protestant  school 


ii2     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

for  boys,  and  three  for  girls,  besides  that  glorious 
Orphanage,  which,  by  the  by,  is  supported  by 
the  Society  for  the  Promotion  of  Female  Educa- 
tion in  the  East — an  organization  whose  spirit  is 
more  beautiful  than  its  name.  And  in  Nazareth 
there  is  a  Protestant  church,  where  kindness  and 
love  are  practised  and  preached,  though  the 
missionary  did  not  say  so.  But  he  did  tell  me 
of  the  eagerness  of  Greek  Catholics  to  be  married 
there. 

In  a  word,  Moslems,  Greek  Catholics,  and 
Latins  hold  the  small  Protestant  minority  in 
deep  reverence,  and  send  their  children  to  be 
educated  at  its  academies.  Also  (and  here 
again  I  quote  his  testimony)  they  ask  its  prayers 
of  intercession  at  times  of  fear,  as  when,  a  few 
years  ago,  cholera  came.  To  me  it  seems  that — 
in  essentials,  as  distinguished  from  names — the 
minority  has  become  the  majority. 

These  were  the  missionary's  last  words  to  me 
as  we  parted  on  the  hill-top :  "  Yes ;  tell  them 
of  beautiful  Nazareth.  And  I  am  so  glad  you 
like  the  flowers.  Ah !  when  that  slope  is  white 
with  narcissus  1 " 

Then  we  went  forward  on  our  travels.  And 
he  returned  to  the  little  city. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Galilean  Villages 

An  entrancing  panorama — Reineh  and  its  well — The  woman,  the 
pitcher,  and  the  baby — Cana — Acres  blue  with  bugloss— Flights 
of  storks — My  horse  goes  lame — A  loose  saddle — Kind  lads  of 
Lubieh — A  wounded  bird — My  brother's  handsome  model — 
Wine-presses  cut  in  the  rock — The  dead  lizard — A  howling 
hyena — Why  the  men  were  missing — Our  aggressive  defender 
— Menacing  appeal  for  baksheesh — Jackals  and  mosquitoes. 

XITE  saw  again  the  fair  panorama  we  had 
T  seen  on  arriving  at  Nazareth.  And  now 
we  were  riding  down  into  it,  following  a  rough 
track  that  marks  a  boundary  in  sacred  geography. 
For  on  our  left  was  Zebulon,  and  to  the  right 
of  us  was  Naphtali.  But  it  was  all  one  lovely 
landscape. 

Since  the  morning  was  far  advanced  when  we 
departed  from  Nazareth,  two  miles  of  travelling 
brought  us  to  the  hour  for  lunch,  and  to  a 
favourable  spot  for  the  purpose.  Mary's  well — 
which  had  stamped  its  lovely  image  on  my  mind 
as,  I  think,  an  indelible  memory — had  here  a 
rural  fellow.  We  halted  for  our  midday  meal 
beside  the  well  of  Reineh. 
8  "3 


\ 

114    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

I  begrudge  the  balance  of  probability  that 
gives  Kefr  Kenna  the  stronger  title  to  be  iden- 
tified as  Cana  of  Galilee  ;  for  over  Reineh,  as 
we  saw  it,  there  brooded  a  beautiful  spirit  of 
peace. 

The  well — or,  as  we  should  say,  the  spring — 
is  seen  as  a  hollow  of  masonry  in  the  hill-side. 
Entering,  you  face  a  grey  old  wall,  partly  re- 
cessed beneath  an  arch,  and  crested  with  an 
overhanging  tangle  of  bushes.  Near  its  base 
the  sparkling  water  gushes.  A  wing  of  sup- 
porting stonework  on  either  side  completes  the 
cool  little  grotto,  smelling  so  moist  and  mossy. 

We  had  not  been  there  long  before  two 
women  came,  carrying  large  graceful  jars  poised 
upon  their  heads ;  and  when  they  had  filled  their 
vessels  and  gone  away,  other  women  also  came, 
and  still  others  after  them.  A  note  of  picturesque 
poverty  entered  into  that  procession  of  quiet 
figures,  clothed  so  simply  in  limp  draperies  of 
deep  hues,  which  time,  and  use,  and  the  sunshine 
had  mellowed  into  an  infinite  variety  of  soft 
tints. 

Their  dexterity  as  water-carriers  had  a  crown- 
ing proof  in  the  young  woman  who,  besides 
balancing  a  large  pitcher  on  her  head,  carried 
a  baby  in  her  arms.  Thus  she  could  not  have 
put  up  a  steadying  hand,  should  the  pitcher's 
equilibrium  be  imperilled — in  which  contingency 
her  babe  might  well  be  overwhelmed  with  water, 


Galilean  Villages  115 

did  not  worse  befall.  But  that  barefooted  young 
woman  had,  it  would  seem,  an  absolute  and 
legitimate  faith  in  her  capacity  so  discreetly  to 
walk  over  the  uneven  ground  as  to  maintain  her 
head  at  a  steady  poise.  And,  as  it  happened, 
her  powers  of  vision  were  below  the  average,  for 
I  noticed  she  had  lost  one  eye. 

The  women  of  Reineh,  by  all  we  saw  of  them, 
won  our  respectful  admiration.  They  did  not 
dally  to  gossip  at  the  well,  they  exchanged  no 
loud-voiced  pleasantries,  nor  did  they  stare  at 
the  strangers.  Indeed,  their  bearing  towards  us 
equally  avoided  the  opposite  extremes  of  inquisi- 
tive curiosity  and  disdainful  aloofness.  On 
passing  us  they  merely  smiled  a  friendly,  un- 
obtrusive welcome.  Thus  it  seemed  to  me  that 
those  humble  Bedouins,  looking  so  contented  and 
composed,  had  not  much  to  learn,  in  point  of 
manners,  from  the  best- bred  ladies  of  Europe. 
I  think  they  live  too  near  Nazareth  for  the  case 
to  be  otherwise. 

We  had  glimpses  of  the  village  of  mud  houses, 
some  fifty  yards  away,  whence  the  women  came. 
Also  we  saw  several  of  the  male  inhabitants 
departing  on  horseback — quiet,  dignified  men, 
each  with  his  brows  encircled  by  the  black 
horsehair  coil  that  holds  the  head-cloths  in 
position.  It  was  the  one  notable  feature  of 
their  toilet,  which  seemed  otherwise  an  affair  of 
nondescript  rags. 


ir6    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

After  lunch  we  resumed  our  journey,  still 
going  through  beautiful,  undulating  country ; 
and  in  a  little  while  we  came  to  the  village  that 
is  thought  to  be  Cana — a  village  nestling  on  the 
side  of  a  sheltered  hill,  where  pomegranates  and 
wild  olives  grow  among  the  fig-trees.  Pointing 
westward  to  a  rocky  summit,  Solomon  said  that 
was  Jonah's  birthplace. 

As  we  rode  slowly  through  Kefr  Kenna,  our 
route  was  lined  by  demure  and  smiling  girls 
and  boys,  who  sought  to  win  our  custom  for  the 
articles  of  needlework,  clean,  white,  and  dainty, 
they  held  up  before  us.  The  prices,  proclaimed 
in  musical  chorus — for  those  children  spoke  in 
terms  of  currency  to  be  understood  by  travellers 
— seemed  reasonable  enough  ;  but  my  brother 
and  I  were  of  the  wrong  sex  to  desire  specimens 
of  those  pretty  goods,  and  so,  blowing  kisses  to 
the  little  ones,  we  continued  on  our  way. 

Half  an  hour  later  we  faced  a  far  perspective 
of  level  ground.  It  proved  a  land  of  flowers. 
We  passed  across  acres  blue  with  bugloss.  The 
young  crops  on  cultivated  land  formed  patches 
of  vivid  green.  Great  white  birds  flew  over  the 
plain  in  graceful,  dazzling  processions  ;  and  I 
was  still  watching  those  flights  of  storks  when 
Solomon  announced  a  discovery  which  I  ought 
to  have  made.     My  horse  was  walking  lame. 

On  examining  the  faulty  foot,  Mahomet 
satisfied  himself  there  was  nothing  more  amiss 


Galilean  Villages 


117 


with  it  than  a  farrier  could  readily  put  right. 
Meanwhile  I  perceived  advantage  to  me  in 
this  misfortune  to  the  poor  brute.  For  in  such 
a  plight  he  could  not  repeat  the  mad  behaviour 
which,  on   the    Levantine   shore,   had    done    so 


*^# 


THE  WELL  OF  CANA 


and 


much    to  unsettle  my  faith  in  horseflesh  : 
I  directed  Mahomet  to  untie  the  tow-rope. 

Thus  my  period  of  bondage  came  to  a  close, 
and  I  resumed  the  independent  status  of  one 
who  rides  his  horse  unaided — an  experience,  by 
the  way,  from  which  I  had  not  been  wholly 
cut   off  during  recent   days.      For,  every  now 


1 1 8     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

and  then,  that  the  spirit  of  liberty  might  not 
expire  within  my  bosom,  my  brother  had  lent 
me  his  docile  steed,  and  himself  had  a  spell  of 
captivity. 

After  we  had  resumed  our  journey,  I  felt 
that  my  tribulations  in  the  saddle  were  surely 
over  at  last.  For  nothing  could  have  been 
more  reassuring  than  the  prompt  and  good- 
tempered  way  in  which  my  horse  obeyed  every 
suggestion  of  the  bridle.  But  my  equestrian 
ill-luck  had  not  yet  run  its  course. 

Riding  beside  Solomon,  I  expressed  an  im- 
proved opinion  of  the  animal  provided  for  me. 

"  It  good  horse — very  good  horse,"  he  replied. 
"  But  a  pity  he  begin  his  journey  on  the  flat 
country.  He  feel  strong,  he  very  fresh  after  his 
rest,  so  he  not  let  you  stop  him  gallop.  But 
there  are  no  more  days  when  we  travel  on 
flat  country— except  for  a  little  while,  the  same 
as  now.  All  the  rest  is  up  a  mountain,  down 
a  mountain — hard  work  for  the  horses.  So  they 
not  want  to  gallop  any  more.  Your  horse  never 
make  any  more  trouble  for  you." 

As  he  spoke,  he  gazed  at  my  steed  with  a 
complacency  that  quickly  gave  place  to  con- 
sternation. 

"  At  once  stop,  please  !  "  he  cried.  "  Your 
girth-strap  quite  loose,  is  it !  I  wonder  you  not 
fall  off." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  experience  had   shown 


u 


Galilean  Villages  119 

me  that  my  saddle  was  in  the  nature  of  a  sliding 
seat,  and,  while  making  discreet  experiments 
as  to  the  best  way  of  preserving  an  upright 
position,  I  had  been  secretly  reproaching  myself 
for  not  having  previously  noticed  the  instability 
of  a  rider's  leather  throne. 

Whether  Mahomet  had  been  careless,  or 
whether  my  horse  had  been  saddled  after  a 
heavy  meal,  and  had  since  lost  circumference, 
I  do  not  know.  But  when  the  anxious  muleteer 
had  tightened  my  straps  I  greatly  appreciated 
the  rigidity  thereby  imparted  to  the  saddle.  By 
the  process  of  learning  one  thing  and  unlearning 
another,  my  education  in  horsemanship  was 
slowly  advancing. 

It  was  hot  but  very  pleasant  on  our  eastward 
journey  along  that  verdant  plain,  the  eye 
delighting  to  roam  over  the  northern  range  of 
hills,  tinted  by  olive  groves  to  a  beautiful  grey. 

Five  miles  from  Kefr  Kenna,  our  day's 
journey  ended  in  the  early  evening,  when  we 
arrived  at  our  encampment.  It  stood  on  gentle 
undulations,  with  a  village  scarce  discernible  in 
the  background. 

An  English  village,  with  its  church  tower 
and  two-storied  houses,  can  be  seen  from  afar. 
But  a  Syrian  village  is  but  a  honeycomb  of 
square  chambers  scarce  six  feet  high,  with  roofs 
which,  being  flat  and  innocent  of  chimney  pots, 
are  invisible  ;   so  that  a  few  mounds  or  bushes 


120    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

may  hide  the  whole  of  it.  That  we  were  just 
outside  a  village — Lubieh,  its  name — the  eye 
had  evidence  only  in  the  number  of  inhabitants 
who  had  come  forth  to  see  the  travellers  and 
their  canvas  dwellings. 

The  bearing  of  our  visitors,  who  were  for 
the  most  part  in  their  teens,  at  once  recom- 
mended them  to  our  good  opinion.  They  were 
not  shy  or  sullen,  nor  did  any  element  of 
hostility  or  derision  enter  into  their  behaviour. 
In  a  word,  they  smilingly  accepted  us  for 
friends ;  and  my  brother,  anxious  to  induce  one 
of  those  picturesque  youngsters  to  serve  him 
for  a  model,  warned  Solomon  on  no  account 
to  send  them  away. 

The  young  people  of  Lubieh  obviously  found 
us  very  interesting ;  but  not  for  long  did  we 
monopolize  their  attention.  One  of  their  number 
arrived  with  a  live  stork  in  his  arms — an 
incident  which,  since  birds  of  that  class  flew  in 
such  numbers  thereabouts,  I  at  first  took  to 
be  part  of  the  everyday  life  of  people  who, 
living  amid  wild  nature,  would  presumably  have 
some  dexterity  in  hunting  and  snaring. 

That  my  surmise  was  mistaken,  however, 
needed  no  further  proof  than  the  gratified  air 
of  the  captor,  and  the  eagerness  with  which 
his  fellows  gathered  about  him.  There  was  a 
keen  competition  to  fondle  the  bird,  which, 
making   no  effort  to  escape,    turned   its  head 


Galilean  Villages 


121 


from  one  to  the  other,  as  though  fully  conscious 
no  harm  was  intended  it.  Solomon  learnt  that 
the  boy  had  found  the  poor  stork  suffering 
from  an  injury  that  prevented  flight.  How 
this  injury  was  contracted,  no  one  know. 

When  the  affair  was  beginning  to  lose  its 
novelty,  my  brother  got  ready  his  sketching 
tools,  and  bade  Solomon  ask  a  certain  handsome 
youth  to  sit  for  his  portrait — a  request  promptly 
understood  and  cheerfully  granted. 

Truly  we  were  again  amongst  a  kind  and 
enlightened  people.  Strange  that  in  so  small 
a  country  as  Palestine  we  should  already  have 
happened  upon  human  communities  which,  if 
indistinguishable  in  the  matter  of  attire  and 
domestic  resources,    differed   in    spirit  as   does 


THE  WOUNDED  STORK 


122     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

night  from  day.  In  giving  my  impressions  of 
those  who  proved  hostile  and  uncouth,  I  have 
not  hesitated  to  use  the  words  "  barbarous " 
and  "  uncivilized,"  and,  indeed,  none  others  seem 
so  applicable.  But  in  describing  the  lads  and 
lasses  of  Lubieh — their  compassionate  interest 
in  the  maimed  bird,  and  their  fraternal  bearing 
towards  ourselves — I  find  myself  searching  the 
vocabulary  for  epithets  of  the  opposite  signifi- 
cance. Those  young  people  seemed  not  merely 
civilized,  but  cultured  ;  to  use  that  term  in  its 
loftiest  application,  as  pointing  to  a  state  of  the 
heart  rather  than  of  the  mind.  Nor  was  that 
impression  weakened,  if  it  certainly  was  not 
strengthened,  by  a  dash  of  audacity  in  some  of 
the  youths — a  characteristic  leading  to  an  inci- 
dent that  amused  my  brother  and  myself  as 
much  as  it  scandalized  Solomon. 

Taking  things,  however,  in  the  order  of  their 
happening,  I  should  first  mention  that,  while 
the  sketch  was  in  progress,  I  set  out  to  explore 
our  undulating  surroundings. 

There  were  many  flowers,  the  bright  bugloss 
competing  with  glowing  anemones  in  a  shimmer 
of  wild  mustard.  But  something  of  a  different 
character  also  engaged  my  attention.  Here  and 
there  the  fair  vegetation  was  interrupted  by  rock 
surfaces,  and  at  one  place  a  large  square  had 
been  cut  out  of  the  solid  stone,  though  for  what 
purpose  I  could  not  divine.     Elsewhere  I  found 


Galilean  Villages  123 

another  of  these  artificial  basins,  and,  examining 
this  one  more  narrowly  than  the  last,  I  noted 
that,  since  the  edges  were  blunted  by  time,  the 
cutting  could  not  be  of  recent  date.  Nor, 
clearly,  as  accumulations  of  moss  and  grit 
attested,  was  it  in  present-day  use.  Pushing 
away  an  overhanging  tangle  of  vegetation,  I 
traced  a  connecting  channel  that  communicated 
with  another  basin  cut  in  the  rock  at  a  higher 
elevation. 

Complicated  by  this  new  feature,  the  mystery 
was  more  tantalizing  than  ever ;  and  I  went 
back  and  fetched  Solomon. 

"  Wine-presses,"  he  explained,  on  reaching 
the  spot.  "  See  now  " — and  he  proceeded  to 
demonstrate — "  the  grapes  are  put  in  this  place, 
and  when  they  are  pressed  the  juice  runs  down 
to  that  place.     Then  it  becomes  wine." 

Two  Lubieh  youths  had  accompanied  us,  and 
I  bade  Solomon  ask  them  if  they  had  known, 
or  heard,  of  wine  being  made  in  those  alfresco 
vats.  Recognizing  that  he  knew  much  more 
about  such  matters  than  they  could  be  expected 
to,  the  worthy  dragoman  was  at  first  disposed 
to  disregard  this  request,  in  which,  however,  I 
persisted,  since,  as  I  tried  to  make  him  under- 
stand, my  desire  was  not  so  much  to  learn  about 
wine-presses  as  to  find  out  what  those  two  lads 
knew  about  them. 

Speech  was  accordingly  exchanged  in  Arabic, 


124    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Solomon's  share  of  the  conversation  being  marked 
by  a  rising  note  of  dissent. 

M  Bah  !  "  he  presently  interpreted  ;  "  they  very 
ignorant.  They  know  nothing.  They  think  " — 
and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  over  the  anti- 
quarian fallacy — "  people  long  ago  use  the  hole 
in  the  rock  to  make  oil.  But  oil-presses  they 
are  cut  much  deeper.  It  is  wine-presses  we 
see  here." 

Nor  had  I  any  reason  to  question  his  decision, 
though,  as  he  himself  remarked,  the  cultivation 
of  the  vine  seemed  to  be  wholly  neglected,  in 
that  particular  district,  at  the  present  time. 

Sauntering  back  towards  our  camp,  we  saw 
yet  a  third  basin  cut  in  the  solid  stone,  this  one 
being  half  full  of  water  from  the  recent  rain  ; 
and  I  saw,  floating  in  that  pool,  a  little  dead 
lizard  with  bright  yellow  spots  on  his  upturned 
belly. 

When  my  brother's  sketch  was  done,  we  had 
our  dinner,  and  it  was  during  this  meal,  while 
the  twilight  was  deepening  without,  that  our 
ears  were  distressed  by  a  lugubrious  howling 
suggestive  of  no  domestic  quadruped  with  which 
we  were  acquainted.  It  was  a  hyena,  Solomon 
presently  informed  us,  and  a  hyena  that  was 
causing  some  local  anxiety,  since  the  brute  had 
already  killed  one  donkey,  and  was  manifestly 
bent  on  further  mischief.  Nor  did  this  exhaust 
the  tidings  with  which  a  visit  to  the  village  had 


Galilean  Villages  125 

charged  our  dragoman.  It  seemed  that  the 
population  of  the  place  had  been  that  day 
depleted  of  thirty  men,  whom  the  Turkish 
authorities  had  marched  off  to  assist  in  some 
desultory  warfare  proceeding  in  Arabia.  The 
matter  had  the  greater  interest  for  us  since  there 
remained  no  adult  villagers  with  the  necessary 
military  training  to  serve  as  our  guard. 

Solomon  had,  on  his  own  admission,  conducted 
an  angry  argument  with  the  chief  folk  of  Lubieh 
touching  their  responsibilities  towards  English 
travellers  ;  though,  let  me  say  here,  I  personally 
fail  to  see  by  what  right  he  compelled  the 
inhabitants  at  every  place  where  we  stopped,  to 
provide  us  with  protectors  against  themselves. 
However,  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  the 
masterful  dragoman  gained  his  point ;  and  it 
appeared  that,  since  mature  soldiers  were  not 
available,  he  had  consented  to  make  do  with 
two  youths  certified  to  be  of  a  warlike  and 
fearless  spirit. 

Nor  was  it  long  before  one  of  our  custodians, 
with  a  great  clatter  of  accoutrements,  strode  into 
our  tent.  His  appearance  set  us  gaping.  A 
handsome  lad,  who  carried  his  head  at  a 
proud  elevation,  his  raiment  was  distinguished 
by  a  wealth  of  colours  and  embroidery.  But 
what  arrested  our  gaze  was  the  armoury  of 
knives  and  pistols  that  formed  a  belt  of  terror 
around  his   slim   body.      The   good   people    of 


126    A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Lubieh  had  apparently  been  concerned  that 
what  he  lacked  in  years  should  be  made  good 
by  the  number  of  his  weapons.  Supposing  his 
colleague  to  be  armed  with  anything  like  the 
same  prodigality,  I  could  only  conclude  that, 
awed  by  Solomon's  stern  admonitions,  those 
conscientious  Syrians  had  brought  together,  on 
our  behalf,  every  implement  of  slaughter  their 
village  possessed.  Woe  betide  the  poor  hyena, 
I  could  not  help  reflecting,  should  he  visit  our 
tents  in  the  night. 

Lowering  his  carbine  to  the  ground,  our 
visitor  drew  attention  first  to  the  largest  of  his 
many  curved  knives,  and  then  to  the  belt  of 
cartridges  that  encircled  his  chest.  And  the 
next  minute,  placing  his  right  hand  on  the  butt 
of  an  enormous  pistol,  he  sternly  demanded, 
"  Baksheesh  !  Baksheesh  ! " 

Since  arriving  in  Palestine  we  had  been  sub- 
jected to  many  applications  for  a  gratuity  ;  but 
this  was  the  first  time  supplication  had  been 
supported  by  firearms.  The  picturesque  youth, 
in  thus  turning  his  weapons  against  us,  was 
certainly  acting  outside  his  duty  as  our  pro- 
tector. Solomon  was  grievously  displeased,  and 
soon  he  was  giving  us  an  English  summary  of 
the  torrent  of  Arabic  denunciation  he  poured 
against  the  offender. 

"  I  ask  him,"  he  indignantly  explained,  "  if  he 
call  that  respectable.     I  tell  him  to  be  ashamed. 


Galilean  Villages  127 

And  he  the  son  of  the  headman !  Bah  1  the 
foolish  fellow — he  think  himself  a  king." 

My  brother  and  I,  for  our  part,  instructed 
Solomon  to  tell  him  he  was  a  naughty  boy. 
Then,  observing  how  abashed  he  had  grown  in 
the  face  of  so  much  censure,  we  so  far  relented 
as  to  present  him  with  half  an  ounce  of  tobacco. 
Gladly  clutching  his  prize,  our  guardian  departed 
to  the  post  of  duty. 

Ere  we  went  to  sleep,  the  note  of  the  hyena 
was  supplemented  by  the  plaintive  wailing  of 
jackals.  Another  new  experience  was  that 
mosquitoes  buzzed  about  our  pavilion,  so  that 
now  we  were  grateful  for  the  muslin  screens 
that  hung  over  our  beds. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Tiberias 

The  Sea  of  Galilee  :  a  superb  view — Horns  of  Hattin — The  "  Five 
Loaves" — Walking  waist-deep  in  flowers — Tiberias  and  its 
inhabitants — The  market-place — Finding  a  farrier — Our  camp 
on  the  shore — Visit  to  Hamman — Experiences  in  the  steaming 
darkness — Tidings  of  a  tragedy — The  dead  girl. 


EXT  day  we  were 
early  in  the  saddle, 
and  in  the  hot 
sunshine  we  tra- 
versed more  hills 
of  Galilee,  watch- 
ing the  many 
storks  fly  over  a 
mwpjTV     w  r  country  gloriously 

V  green.     And  soon 

we   attained   a   summit    that    gave   us   a   vista 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

We  looked  down  upon  the  far  sweep  of  a 
fertile  valley  mapped  into  tiny  squares  of  brown 
and  green — areas  of  ploughed  land  and  growing 

crops.     But  for  long  we  had  eyes  only  for  that 

tat 


Tiberias  129 

to  which  the  valley  led — the  smooth,  quiet  face 
of  a  lake,  grey  and  purple  with  the  reflection  of 
the  mountains  rising  from  its  farther  shore, 
mountains  in  front  of  other  mountains  that 
merged  with  the  sky  in  a  lilac  haze.  It  was  the 
Sea  of  Galilee. 

That  vast,  varied,  sun-lit  landscape,  so  full  ot 
gentle  majesty,  affected  me  like  nothing  I  had 
ever  seen  before — like  nothing  I  shall  ever  see 
again.  For  human  experience  admits  no  other 
opportunity  for  so  exquisite  a  harmony  of  earthly 
beauty  and  divine  associations.  As  I  looked 
upon  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  a  sense  of  supreme 
privilege  came  over  me,  and  my  heart  sang  with 
gratitude.  But  my  mind  was  consciously  over- 
whelmed. In  those  glorious  moments,  more 
was  offered  to  the  imagination  than  the  imagi- 
nation could  grasp.  So  I  found  myself  making 
a  deliberate  effort  to  print  upon  my  memory  the 
physical  facts  of  valley,  water,  and  mountains, 
with  their  grades  of  beautiful  colouring,  so  that 
I  should  have  opportunity,  with  the  beautiful 
picture  in  my  mind,  to  realize  its  significance  in 
quiet  hours  to  come. 

I  can  but  catalogue  some  details  of  that 
thrilling  geography  as  pointed  out  by  Solomon. 
The  eminence  just  left  behind  us,  with  its  group 
of  little  trees  showing  against  the  sky,  was  the 
Horns  of  Hattin — one  of  the  two  sites  associated 
by  tradition  with  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
9 


130      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

On  turning  our  heads  we  saw  the  other — a  hill 
beyond  the  valley  and  sloping  towards  the  lake, 
a  hill  with  its  vegetation  interrupted  here  and 
there  with  patches  of  exposed  brown  rocks. 
One  of  two  white  specks  upon  the  north-west 
shore  was  a  ruin  that  marked  the  site  of 
Capernaum.  That  rising  ground  across  the 
water  was  the  Gergesene  cliffs.  The  spot  on 
which  we  stood,  with  its  group  of  boulders,  was 
identified  by  Empress  Helena  as  the  place  where 
five  thousand  were  miraculously  fed,  and — 
though  stronger  probability  belongs  to  a  site 
across  the  lake — the  Arabs  name  those  stones 
the  "Five  Loaves."  Active  little  lizards  were 
sunning  themselves  upon  the  largest  of  the  group. 
The  ground  thereabout  was  brilliant  with  ane- 
mones, cistus,  cornflowers,  and  marguerites.  But 
those  flowers  were  but  the  promise  of  what  was 
to  come,  like  the  first  few  flakes  of  the  snow- 
storm. 

Once  more  moving,  we  went  by  a  winding 
path  downward  towards  the  lake ;  and  our  way 
was  through  a  paradise.  To  the  right  and  left 
of  our  serpentine  course,  so  far  as  the  eye  could 
roam  over  that  sunny  mountain  side,  it  was 
flowers,  flowers,  and  still  flowers ;  growing  as 
high  as  a  crop  of  barley ;  animate  with  butter- 
flies and  bees  ;  rich  blue  spikes  of  lupin  waving 
above  the  shimmering  rainbow-haze  of  petals  .; 
the  air  full  of  soft,  delicious  perfume. 


Traditional  site  of  the  Miracle 
of    the   Loaves   and    Fishes. 


Harold  Copping. 


Tiberias  131 

Giving  my  horse  to  the  muleteer,  I  waded 
out  into  that  sea  of  flowers,  so  that  their  shining 
brightness  was  a  strain  to  my  eyes  and  I  was 
splashed  to  the  knees  with  pollen. 

On  a  sudden,  at  a  bend  in  the  path,  that  region 
of  hallowed  history  disclosed  a  new  wonder  to 
our  eyes.  Down  below,  upon  the  margin  of  the 
sea,  was  a  little  city  shining  white — tiny  domes 
and  minarets  and  houses,  as  if  exquisitely  cut  in 
ivory.  This  was  Tiberias,  whitened  because  of 
the  sun,  and  because  of  Jewish  rites.  To  sharpen 
and  beautify  the  contrast,  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
viewed  from  this  lower  level,  was  a  background 
of  rich  marine  blue. 

On  nearing  the  city,  we  saw  the  grey  ruins  of 
a  castle  with  its  embracing  wall ;  and  presently 
we  met  some  few  of  the  inhabitants  going  about 
their  pastoral  affairs — a  drowsy  youth  driving  a 
large  flock  of  black  goats ;  a  Moslem  leading 
a  string  of  camels  ;  three  patriarch  Jews,  one 
riding  an  ass,  two  going  slowly  on  foot.  Many 
men  were  squatting  in  the  roadway  outside  the 
city's  crumbling  stone  entrance. 

We  passed  through  the  uneven,  narrow,  un- 
washed streets  of  Tiberias,  with  barefooted 
children  in  picturesque  rags  following  at  our 
heels.  Peeping  inside  some  of  the  little  white 
houses,  we  saw  bright-apparelled  women  asquat 
on  the  stone  floors,  preparing  food.  Yellow  and 
white  dogs  met  us  with  unfriendly  growling. 


132      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

The  market-place,  rudely  roofed  with  boards 
against  the  sunlight,  was  peopled  mainly  by  girls 
of  dark-eyed  beauty,  and  venerable  Jews  with 
curly  locks  and  beards,  jet  black  or  gone  grey. 
Oranges,  spices,  lentils,  harness,  cord,  bread, 
prunes,  tobacco — these  were  conspicuous  among 
the  wares.  Also  we  saw  an  area  of  pavement 
where  the  thick,  round  fish  of  Galilee  were 
exposed  for  sale. 

Having  passed  through  the  city,  we  found 
upon  its  outskirts  a  farrier  at  work  beside  his 
al  fresco  forge  ;  and  our  thoughtful  dragoman 
took  the  opportunity  to  have  my  horse  attended 
to.  For  the  poor  brute's  limp,  if  not  very 
pronounced,  still  continued. 

Having  surrendered  my  steed  to  the  smith, 
I  experienced  the  agreeable  change,  when  we 
resumed  our  journey,  of  accompanying  my  com- 
panions on  foot.  We  proceeded  along  a  road  that 
ran  beside  the  lake,  that  beautiful  expanse  of  still 
water  lying  on  our  left,  while  the  open  country 
rose  to  verdant  uplands  on  our  right.  Nor  had 
we  gone  quite  a  mile  before  we  found  our  tents 
standing  ready  to  receive  us  upon  the  shore. 

Nowhere  in  the  world,  I  think,  could  a  more 
delightful  and  interesting  camping  ground  be 
chosen.  Our  surroundings  invited  us  to  rest, 
and  meditate,  and  be  happy.  My  brother  and  I 
brought  out  our  stools  and  sat  awhile  in  silence, 
looking  out  upon  the  lovely  lake.     Little  splashes 


Tiberias  133 

of  leaping  fish  were  the  only  sounds.  And  anon 
we  sauntered  along  the  broad  beach  of  large 
pebbles,  which  were  white  and  grey.  We  picked 
up  dainty  shells.  There  was  a  clean  smell  of 
water  in  the  evening  air. 

Many  miles  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee  lay  before 
us,  stretching  far  to  right  and  left,  but  no  sail 
was  in  sight.  The  only  visible  craft  were  a  few 
row-boats  anchored  off  Tiberias.  Looking  in 
the  opposite  direction,  we  saw,  about  a  mile 
away,  a  lonely  domed  building,  small  and  yellow, 
as  a  conspicuous  landmark  on  the  shore.  Solomon 
told  us  it  was  Hamman — hot  baths  of  great 
antiquity,  and  still  in  use.  Eager  for  a  luxury, 
and  nothing  loath  for  an  adventure,  we  said  we 
should  like  to  go  there ;  and  our  resourceful 
dragoman  undertook  to  make  the  necessary 
arrangements. 

Thus  it  came  about  that,  an  hour  after  dinner, 
my  brother  and  I,  accompanied  by  a  local  guide, 
set  out  on  foot  for  Hamman.  The  night  lacked 
a  moon,  but  our  companion  carried  a  lamp, 
which  proved  almost  as  useful  in  the  building  as 
upon  the  uneven  road. 

From  a  small  courtyard,  which  was  given 
over  to  dogs  and  untidiness,  we  groped  along 
a  narrow  passage  that  led  to  a  chamber  warm, 
wet,  and  mysterious.  Between  pillars  we  saw 
the  yellow  flicker  of  a  single  candle,  revealing 
clouds   of  vapour.     Our  guide's  Istronger  light 


134      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

showed  us  to  be  walking  on  a  stone  pathway 
that  glistened  with  moisture;  and  from  its 
curving  course  we  perceived  that  we  trod  a 
circle.  The  stone  pillars,  occurring  at  regular 
intervals,  bordered  the  inner  circumference. 

Within  that  circle  of  pathway  and  pillars, 
the  rays  of  our  lamp  melted  in  the  rising  steam, 
leaving  our  knowledge  of  that  interior  still 
incomplete. 

Meanwhile,  if  sight  asked  for  more,  other 
senses  suffered  repletion.  A  perspiring  languor 
had  come  over  me.  I  wanted  air.  A  promise 
of  dizziness  affected  my  temples.  Indeed,  if  this 
bath  had  won  the  approbation  of  Pliny  and 
Josephus  (and  we  had  Solomon's  word  for  that), 
my  preference  would  be,  I  felt,  for  something 
less  suffocating. 

On  the  outer  circumference  of  our  path,  the 
wall  rose  only  to  a  height  of  some  thirty  inches, 
when  the  perpendicular  became  nearly  horizontal 
to  a  recessed  depth  of  about  six  feet,  the  continued 
wall  being  a  back  to  the  lounge  (covered  with 
grass  matting)  thus  formed.  Obeying  the  gesti- 
culated directions  of  our  conductor,  we  there 
reclined  at  sleepy  ease  until,  in  a  little  while,  our 
bodies  felt  more  attuned  to  their  surroundings. 
Not  yet,  however,  could  our  eyes  gain  a  full 
view  of  a  chamber  which  seemed  so  strangely  to 
combine  the  attributes  of  a  wash-house  and  a 
tomb. 


Tiberias  135 

A  sudden  splash  commanding  attention,  we 
slid  off  our  stone  couch  and  went  cautiously 
to  the  spot  whence  came  the  sound.  Here, 
seated  beside  a  pillar,  we  found  the  brown  ghost 
of  a  naked  Bedouin  with  upturned,  grinning 
face.  He  soon  discovered,  as  our  conductor 
had  done,  that  it  was  unavailing  to  address  the 
two  Englishmen  in  Arabic ;  but  by  signs  and 
exclamations  he  made  us  understand  that  his 
feet  reached  the  water  where  he  sat,  and  that, 
while  the  bath  had  a  shallow  margin  for  a  couple 
of  feet  or  so,  this  led  by  a  precipitous  step  to  a 
depth  that  could  drown  a  man. 

The  voices  brought  to  life  another  brown 
figure  beside  another  pillar ;  and,  for  our  en- 
couragement, the  two  native  bathers  stood  waist- 
deep  in  the  water  and  made  a  great  splashing. 
Then  one,  in  the  merriment  of  his  heart,  fell 
a-singing,  and  out  of  the  steam  there  came  a 
single  syllable  weirdly  sustained,  with  faint 
gradations  of  note,  for  an  astonishing  period — 
that  representing,  at  any  rate,  the  impression 
Arabic  singing  makes,  at  a  first  acquaintance, 
on  a  western  ear. 

Stooping,  I  put  my  hand  in  the  water.  It 
was  hot — so  hot,  in  fact,  that  I  could  not  help 
feeling,  if  1  entered  that  water  to  bathe,  I  might 
peradventure  stay  there  to  be  boiled. 

But  knowledge  only  cometh  by  experience; 
so  I  removed  my  garments  and  dipped  an  ex- 


136      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

perimental  foot  in  the  steaming  fluid.  Having 
plucked  up  resolution  to  give  it  the  company 
of  its  fellow,  there  I  sat  humbly  on  the  stone- 
work, waiting  courage  for  further  immersion. 

Confidence  came  by  degrees,  and  anon  the 
two  English  bathers  stood  upright  on  the  margin 
of  least  depth,  fetching  their  breath  how  they 
could  in  the  clouds  of  steam.  Then  my  brother, 
plunging  headlong,  swam  across  the  bath ;  and, 
since  he  returned  none  the  worse  (but,  indeed, 
much  uplifted  in  spirit),  I  found  heart  to  copy 
his  behaviour.  So  that  presently  the  pair  of 
us  were  swimming  in  full  enjoyment  to  and 
fro  across  that  small  area,  drawing  ejaculations 
of  enthusiasm  from  the  Bedouin  bathers,  who, 
it  would  seem,  could  not  put  their  arms  and 
legs  to  such  service. 

That  water,  hot  from  the  inside  of  the  earth, 
had  a  soft  and  silky  feel,  though  unpleasantly 
sulphurous  to  the  taste  and  smell.  From  our 
new  point  of  view  we  could  discern  the  dome 
of  the  building  above  our  heads. 

In  subsequent  soapings  and  sluicings  by  an 
attendant,  experiences  in  a  Turkish  bath  had 
their  counterpart.  A  notable  shortcoming  of 
the  establishment  then  revealed  itself.  It  had 
no  dressing-room.  An  apartment  of  a  lower 
temperature  was  manifestly  essential  if  the 
burden  of  clothes  were  to  be  resumed  in  any 
comfort,  and  if  one  were  to  confront  the  cool 


Tiberias  137 

night  air  with  confidence  and  closed  pores.  We 
had  perforce  to  take  the  risk ;  nor,  walking 
briskly  back  to  our  tents,  did  we  contract  the 
chills  we  courted. 

Next  morning,  when  we  arose,  the  sun  was 
sparkling  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  But  a  heavi- 
ness rested  on  our  camp,  and  we  saw  our 
servants  conferring  together  with  sad  faces.  A 
piteous  tragedy  had  just  happened  at  Tiberias, 
as  we  learnt  from  Solomon,  who  had  the  facts 
from  early  wayfarers  along  the  road. 

Affliction  had  fallen  on  Rabbi  Abraham,  a 
rich  man  who  owned  many  houses.  But  chief 
among  his  possessions  was  Maryetta  his  daughter, 
who  was  sixteen  years  old  and  very  beautiful. 
Strangers,  when  they  saw  her  in  the  doorway, 
ever  asked  who  that  lovely  girl  might  be,  and 
were  told  she  was  the  comeliest  maid  in  all 
Tiberias. 

At  four  o'clock  that  morning  Rabbi  Abraham 
had  risen,  as  his  custom  was,  and  gone  forth 
to  the  synagogue,  that  he  might  perform  his 
prayers  before  the  rising  of  the  sun.  Re- 
turning, he  heard  cries  and  lamentations  from 
afar ;  and  as,  walking  swiftly,  he  drew  nigh  his 
home,  behold !  the  roof  and  walls  were  fallen. 
And  in  the  cloud  of  dust  many  neighbours  were 
gathered  together,  uttering  a  loud  wailing  and 
wringing  their  hands. 

Out  of  the  ruins  they  drew  the  wife  of  Rabbi 


j 38      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Abraham,  sorely  injured  but  still  alive.  Digging 
deeper,  they  found  the  body  of  Maryetta,  who, 
unhurt  by  falling  stones  and  timber,  had  died 
of  suffocation.  And  when  Rabbi  Abraham  saw 
that  his  daughter  was  dead  (I  relate  the  facts 
much   as  they  were   told   me,  through   Arabic 


RUINS  OF  THE  FALLEN  HOUSE,  TIBERIAS 

into  English),  he  rent  his  garments,  and  was 
afflicted  with  great  sorrow,  saying :  "I  would 
pay  as  much  as  had  been  her  weight  in  gold 
rather  than  this  thing  should  have  befallen  me. 
I  would  that  all  my  other  children  were  taken 
from  me   if  only  this   one  were  spared."     For 


Tiberias  139 

Maryetta  had  been  his  chief  joy,  and  he  had 
spent  much  money  to  buy  her  beautiful  clothes. 
Passing  through  Tiberias  during  the  day,  we 
came  upon  the  scene  of  sadness — a  great  heap 
of  dust  and  timber,  where  excavators  toiled  with 
their  picks.  Already  the  body  of  Maryetta  had 
been  laid  in  the  tomb ;  and  that  night,  as  I  sat 
outside  our  tents,  writing  the  sad  story  in  my 
diary,  a  muleteer  rode  in  with  the  news  that 
Rabbi  Abraham's  wife  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  X 

On  the  Sea  of  Galilee 

Our  voyage  on  the  lake —Snow-clad  Hermon — Shelter  in  a  vault — 
Sounds  from  the  shore — Bathing  in  two  temperatures — "  The 
Place  of  the  Big  Fishes  " — A  naked  fisherman  :  his  ingenious 
methods — Dense  shoals  of  fish — Explorations  ashore — The  hos- 
pitable fishermen — Minstrelsy  afloat — Wrecked  in  a  squall — 
A  ride  to  the  Jordan — The  river  entrance— Companionship 
without  words — Good-bye  to  Galilee — Scorpions,  adders,  and 
tarantulas. 

TTARLY  on  the  morrow  we  started  for  a 
•*-'  cruise  upon  the  Sea  of  Galilee.  It  was 
a  grey  morning,  and  Mount  Hermon  was  not 
visible.  Since  we  left  Acre,  that  landmark  of 
Israel  had  figured  daily  as  a  shape  of  opal 
prettiness  in  the  sky  on  our  northward  horizon. 
Sometimes  we  had  seen  the  far  sweep  of  the 
mountains  of  Lebanon,  but  it  was  always  Her- 
mon that  stood  highest  in  the  heavens. 

Over  night,  distances  had  been  sharply  defined 
in  clear  hues,  and  when  we  were  deep  in  twi- 
light, still  the  sun  had  shone  on  snow-capped 
Hermon.  This  morning  the  scenery  was  charged 
with  moisture  and  menace.     None  but  the  near 

mountains  could  be  seen. 

140 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee  141 

For  a  while  the  lake  was  like  a  sheet  of 
polished  slate.  Then  suddenly  its  surface  was 
pitted  and  a-splash  with  a  hissing  torrent  of  large 
rain-drops ;  and  our  five  sailors,  leaving  their 
great  oars  hanging,  wriggled  into  oilskins. 
Though  we  donned  garments  almost  as  imper- 
vious, no  covering  could  avail  against  that 
violent  downpour,  and  we  readily  consented  to 
shape  an  immediate  course  towards  shore  and 
shelter. 

Being  but  a  few  furlongs  out  from  Tiberias, 
we  found  asylum  in  an  architectural  relic  of  that 
city's  former  self — one  of  the  several  vaults  of 
substantial  masonry  which,  with  a  depth  of 
water  ample  for  our  craft,  gave  sufficient  head- 
room for  ourselves.  In  that  dark  cavern  of 
man's  making  we  tarried  until  the  rain  ceased, 
the  heavens  opened  blue  and  sunbeams  sparkled 
on  the  sea. 

Emerging  from  our  shelter,  we  found  that  this 
arched  remnant  of  an  ancient  building  formed 
one  boundary  of  a  little  secluded  cove,  where 
girls  and  women  of  Tiberias  stood  ankle-deep  in 
the  water  washing  clothes. 

We  continued  our  voyage  northward,  leaving 
the  city  behind,  and  distantly  skirting  a  shore 
of  gentle  undulations  that  rose  in  the  background 
to  be  mountains.  Across  the  water  came  the 
soft  voice  of  an  unseen  shepherd-boy  singing 
among  the  leafy  hills ;   and  also  we  heard  the 


142      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

lazy  tinkling  of  the  wether-bells.  Later  I  espied 
a  distant  string  of  camels,  tiny  as  spiders,  cross 
the  crest  of  a  hill,  making  towards  Tiberias. 
Then  for  a  mile  or  so,  moving  on  the  smooth 
water,  we  were  alone  with  the  scenery  and  the 
birds.  From  side  to  side,  from  end  to  end,  no 
vessel  was  in  sight ;  for  a  bend  in  the  shore  had 
hidden  Tiberias,  with  its  half-dozen  row-boats 
anchored  in  the  little  bay.  The  Sea  of  Galilee 
was  a  lovely  solitude. 

My  brother  and  I  bathed,  experiencing  two 
sorts  of  water — one  luxuriously  warm,  the  other 
numbingly  cold.  We  were  but  thirty  yards 
from  the  shore,  where  a  hot  stream  came 
tumbling  over  dark  stones  into  the  sea.  So 
considerable  was  the  volume  of  this  tributary 
that  its  waters  spread  far.  We  swam  into 
patches  of  warmth,  and  the  water  between  and 
underneath  felt,  by  contrast,  icy. 

Our  sailors  offered  to  take  us  to  "  the  place 
of  the  big  fishes,"  and,  one  destination  serving 
like  another  where  interest  was  universal,  to  this 
we  assented.  In  a  little  time  they  ceased  from 
rowing,  and,  hushing  us  to  silence,  caused  our 
eyes  to  obey  their  pointing  fingers.  Sure 
enough,  ten  yards  away,  the  water  broke  with 
noisy  splashings,  and  we  saw  the  curved  backs 
and  protruding  fins  of  vigorous  fish.  After 
watching  these  creatures  appear  and  disappear  in 
the  ringed  and  restless  water  we  looked  towards 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee 


*43 


the  shore  and  saw  a  naked  fisherman.  Girt  only 
with  a  loin-cloth,  he  stood  knee-deep  in  the 
water — a  fine  figure  of  a  young  man  in  burnished 
bronze. 

From  his  right  hand,  held  high,  hung  a  rope 
of  net  in  heavy  folds.     Cautiously,  furtively,  the 


"AND  THERE  HE  STOOD,  STILL  AS  A  STATUE' 


144      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

fisherman  crept  farther  from  the  shore  until 
immersed  to  the  waist ;  and  there  he  stood,  still 
as  a  statue,  though  I  noticed  his  eyes  intently 
scanning  the  water.  Suddenly  the  bronze  image 
quickened  into  active  life.  He  swung  his  net 
thrice  round  his  head,  so  that,  from  being  a 
cluster  of  coils,  it  expanded  into  a  large  meshed 
disc,  which,  on  being  released  from  his  hold, 
flew  lightly  on  to  the  water  a  yard  or  so  away. 
The  net  sank  rapidly  from  its  margin  (mani- 
festly encircled  with  weights),  the  centre  being 
last  to  disappear. 

Swimming  forward,  the  fisherman  plunged,  so 
that  for  a  brief  space  we  saw  two  brown  legs 
slanting  out  of  the  water ;  then  only  two  brown 
feet ;  and  finally  the  man  had  vanished  as  com- 
pletely as  his  gear. 

For  several  seconds  our  eyes  knew  nothing  of 
him.  When  we  saw  him  again  his  left  hand 
clutched  at  his  net,  whereof  the  weighted  margin, 
being  drawn  together,  formed  the  neck  of  a  bag ; 
and,  thrusting  in  his  right  hand,  he  drew  forth 
a  wriggling  fish.  This  he  straightway  flung  to 
the  shore,  where  we  saw  it  vigorously  flopping 
on  the  pebbles,  until  a  man,  stepping  from  among 
the  rocks,  removed  the  captive  to  a  situation  of 
greater  security.  Then  the  fisherman,  shifting 
his  hold  of  the  net,  shook  out  its  coils  and 
repeated  his  cunning  manoeuvres,  this  time 
catching  two  fish. 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee  145 

We  bade  our  sailors  row  us  ashore  ;  and  when 
they  had  done  so,  the  young  fisherman,  ceasing 
from  his  labours,  came  forward  to  welcome  us 
with  a  smile  so  human  and  engaging  that  I 
made  bold  to  take  his  photograph.  Then  we 
looked  about  us  at  the  snug  quarters  of  these 
primitive  fisher- folk.  A  hollow  in  the  rock  gave 
shelter  against  wind  and  rain,  and  in  that  long 
shallow  cave  half  a  dozen  men  were  squatting. 
Two,  using  their  hands  as  spoons,  were  dining 
from  a  pot  of  steaming  lentils.  Several  nets 
were  spread  to  dry  upon  the  bushes. 

I  climbed  a  steep  path  leading  to  a  ledge  of 
rock  that  overhung  the  shore.  Thence  one 
looked  down  upon  the  transparent  water,  which 
gleamed  and  shimmered  with  silver  flashes  and 
little  grey  shapes.  The  mind  took  some  moments 
to  realize  that  these  were  fish.  Here,  there, 
near  and  far,  in  deep  water  and  in  shallow, 
occurred  the  crowded  swarm  of  gliding,  darting 
forms.  Truly  the  Sea  of  Galilee  is  densely 
populated  with  bream  and  barbel  and  other  fish. 

I  turned  from  the  green  and  glittering  water 
to  ramble  in  the  flowery  wilderness — to  tread  the 
lovely  tangle  of  bugloss  and  cyclamen  and  iris. 
Five  minutes  brought  me  to  a  little  valley,  with 
fig-trees  obtruding  above  the  jungle  of  varied 
vegetation ;  and,  penetrating  into  the  shade,  I 
came  upon  a  large  bath  or  cistern  of  venerable 
masonry — moss-grown  fragment  of  a  forgotten 
10 


146      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

city.  It  held  a  foot  or  so  of  clear,  warm  water, 
which  flowed  in  from  an  unseen  spring  and  over- 
flowed down  a  little  ferny  ravine  that  looked 
like  a  home  of  the  fairies. 

The  Galilee  fishermen,  seeing  luncheon  pre- 
parations on  foot,  bestirred  themselves  to  con- 
tribute supplementary  viands — some  half-dozen 
of  their  new-caught  fish  toasted  in  the  flames  of 
a  wood  fire,  so  that  the  skin  was  blackened  and 
cracked,  revealing  white,  firm  flesh  ;  and  some 
young  peeled  stalks  of  a  thistle  which,  Solomon 
explained,  was  much  used  by  the  Arabs  as  food. 
With  honest  zeal  we  ate  the  burnt  flesh  and  that 
strange  salad. 

Anon  returning  to  our  boat,  we  departed 
from  the  pleasant  company  of  those  fisher-folk  ; 
nor  had  we  gone  far  before  a  breeze  sprang  up  to 
fret  the  surface  of  the  sea.  So  the  sailors  set 
aside  their  oars  and  unfurled  our  big  white  sail, 
which  quickly  took  us  again  into  view  of  the 
domes  and  palm-trees  of  Tiberias. 

From  one  of  the  anchored  row-boats,  we  were 
hailed  by  a  youth  who,  having  recently  bathed, 
was  replacing  his  flowing  draperies.  Gliding 
within  his  range,  we  suffered  him  to  come  aboard 
our  vessel ;  and  the  next  minute  he  had  broken 
into  song.  Heavily  pitted  by  small-pox  was  the 
face  of  this  young  Arab,  but  his  dark  eyes  shone 
with  engaging  merriment  and  self-esteem.  His 
minstrelsy   (much  in  request,  we  were  told,  at 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee 


*47 


THE  SEA  OF  GALILEE  AT  TIBERIAS 


Tiberias  weddings)  was  certainly  the  finest  vocal 
performance  I  had  heard  in  the  East.  It  was 
explained  to  us  that  he  sang  love  ballads  of  the 
country  ;  and  certainly  here  was  Arabic  music 
which,  besides  pleasing  at  the  moment  by  its  soft 
quality,  left  some  phrases  of  subtle  melody  to 
haunt  the  memory. 

Meanwhile  the  breeze  strengthened  to  a  con- 
siderable wind,  so  that  we  flew  with  our  great 


148      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

canvas  wing,  the  vessel  borne  over  at  an  angle 
that  brought  her  bulwarks  nearly  to  the  water's 
surface.  With  so  much  pace  available,  we  de- 
cided to  run  to  the  southernmost  shore  and  look 
upon  the  River  Jordan.  But  the  riot  of  speed 
had  a  thrilling  termination.  There  was  a  loud 
report,  the  little  craft  quivered  from  stern  to 
bow,  and  we  all  had  much  ado  to  keep  our  seats. 
The  boom  had  snapped,  and  about  the  mast 
there  hung  a  flapping  disarray  of  ropes  and 
canvas.  With  some  of  the  wrecked  sail  dragging 
in  the  water,  the  boat  was  in  temporary  peril  of 
capsizing.  But  strong  hands  quickly  gathered 
in  the  disabled  canvas.  Then  the  oars  were  got 
out,  and  we  rowed  to  our  tents. 

That  afternoon  my  brother,  accompanied  by 
Solomon,  went  to  sketch  the  site  which,  by  the 
greater  weight  of  probability,  is  associated  with 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount ;  while  I,  accompanied 
by  Mahomet,  set  off  in  the  opposite  direction,  to 
try  and  reach  the  mouth  of  the  Jordan.  The  dis- 
tance being  considerable,  we  went  on  horseback  ; 
and  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  find  myself  upon  an 
animal  that  now  walked  in  complete  comfort  on 
four  sound  feet. 

I  called  a  brief  halt  at  Hamman,  to  examine 
its  environment  by  daylight.  We  heard  the 
water  gurgling  within  the  closed-in  remnant  of  a 
former  bath,  and  chinks  in  the  ancient  masonry 
gave  out  evil  smells  from  the  pent-up   sulphur 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee  149 

fumes.  Several  springs  gushed  forth  upon  the 
shore,  a  copious  supply  of  hot  water  being  thus 
available  to  all  who  might  desire  to  use  it. 

At  one  of  the  steaming  pools,  two  industrious 
Arab  women  were  washing  bright-coloured 
clothes;  and  water  at  a  temperature  of  144 
degrees  Fahrenheit  must  be  excellent  for  the  pur- 
pose. I  have  since  learnt  that,  since  1350  B.C., 
those  hot  springs  have  been  credited  with  a  great 
efficacy  in  rheumatic  complaints  ;  but  neither  my 
brother  nor  I  had  been  qualified  to  subject  their 
reputation  to  a  personal  test. 

For  a  mile  or  so  we  journeyed  comfortably 
along  a  well-defined  track  that  ran  beside  the 
pleasant  shore.  But  either  that  track  ceased, 
or  we  lost  it.  Still  keeping  in  touch  with  the 
lake,  we  doggedly  pushed  our  way  up  mounds 
and  down  declivities,  through  a  universal  growth 
of  tall  grass  and  mustard — an  impediment  that 
presently  distressed  our  horses,  so  that  they 
needed  some  stimulus  to  persistent  effort.  But 
at  last,  having  forged  our  way  through  the 
luxuriant  wilderness,  we  came  to  where  the  waters 
of  that  fresh-water  sea  issue  as  the  River 
Jordan. 

The  scene  proved  simple,  quiet,  and — one 
might  almost  say — English.  At  the  narrow 
entrance,  the  current  ran  swift  and  gurgling. 
Rushes  grew  beside  the  grassy  banks.  There 
was  a  croaking  of  frogs.     In  the  clear  shallows 


150      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

young  fishes  darted  away  in  affright  at  footsteps. 
I  saw  sparrows,  and  little  singing  birds,  and  one 
crested  lark.  A  kingfisher  flew  by,  poised  over 
the  river,  then  dived  swiftly,  to  reappear  with  a 
small  silver  captive  in  his  unerring  beak. 

Several  row-boats  were  moored  against  the 
bank — trim  and  graceful  asdinghies  of  the  Upper 
Thames.  Two  small  tents,  conspicuous  among 
the  bushes,  showed  that  other  travellers  were 
there  before  us.  A  near  bend  carried  the  Jordan 
out  of  sight,  but  a  perspective  of  green  mountains 
marked  its  course.  On  the  shore  of  the  lake, 
away  beyond  the  river's  mouth,  I  saw  Semaleh 
— square  houses  and  a  mosque  shining  in  the 
sunlight.  Near  where  we  were  standing  the 
mustard  and  the  marguerites  grew  to  an  un- 
usual height. 

Turning  our  faces  towards  Hermon,  Mahomet 
and  I  rode  back  to  the  camp ;  we  having 
contrived  to  spend  a  most  sociable  afternoon 
together,  despite  our  inability  to  exchange  one 
word  of  human  speech.  And,  indeed,  given  a 
feeling  of  good  fellowship,  smiles  and  signs  are 
sufficiently  eloquent  for  all  ordinary  purposes. 

As  my  brother  and  I  were  fain  to  agree,  the 
next  day  brought  us  to  the  time  when  we  must 
resume  our  travels.  The  Sea  of  Galilee,  in  our 
personal  experiences,  had  been  loveliness  without 
alloy.  That  nature  had  put  bitter  drops  in 
her  cup  of  sweetness,   I   did   not  realize   until 


On  the  Sea  of  Galilee  151 

the  hour  of  our  going  away.  Then  I  heard 
of  scorpions,  adders,  and  tarantulas  lurking  among 
the  flowers ;  which  somewhat  softened  the 
sadness  of  departure.  My  informant  was  a 
German  resident  with  a  taste  for  natural  history, 
and  he  showed  me  his  camphored  specimens  of 
the  poisonous  creatures  he  named.  But,  it 
seems,  they  scarce  assert  their  presence  during 
the  verdant  spring.  Not  till  later,  when  fierce 
sunshine  beats  upon  the  scorched  hillsides,  do 
those  venomous  insects  and  reptiles  mature  and 
multiply. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Amid  Hostile  Tribes 

Water  tortoises — A  sullen  reception  at  Kefr  Sabt — Photography  leads 
to  friendship — An  ancient  Khan — Suspected  loiterers — Solomon 
and  the  tadpoles — A  little  African  settlement — Mahomet  and 
the  piccaninnies — Mount  Tabor — Endor  and  its  unfriendly 
people — Simon  and  George  prepare  a  surprise — Banquets  in 
the  wilderness— Feverish  diplomacy :  Solomon  on  the  sick 
list — Our  visit  to  the  cave — Curious  optical  development — 
Sketching  under  difficulties — We  are  suspected  of  witchcraft. 

rT*HE  mountain  climb  from  Tiberias  was  a 
A  long  strain  on  our  horses'  strength ;  so 
half  way  to  the  summit  we  lingered  awhile  at 
a  well  where  two  young  women,  come  there 
to  fill  their  water  jars,  sat  gossiping  on  the 
stonework  in  the  sunshine.  Having  fallen  into 
an  easy  chat  with  one  of  these,  Solomon  revealed 
her  as  bewailing  the  departure  of  her  lover 
that  morning  for  the  war,  which  loss  filled  her 
with  the  intention  to  return  home  presently 
and  have  a  good  cry.  But  English  eyes  saw 
small  confirmation  of  the  Arabic  speech,  for 
the  woman  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and  smiling. 
P'rom  the  top  of  the  mountain,  having  looked 
our  last  at  the   Sea  of  Galilee,  we  descended 

152 


Mountain  side  overlooking  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 


Harold  Copping. 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes  153 

into  a  winding  valley,  hot  and  moist  and  green, 
where  we  came  upon  a  small  pond  that  provided 
an  unfamiliar  interest  to  our  view.  Near  the 
shore  a  stone  protruded  darkly  above  the  water, 
and  even  as  my  glance  chanced  to  be  upon  it, 
the  top  of  that  stone  fell  off  with  a  noisy 
splash. 

Gazing  now  with  greater  curiosity  at  another 
exposed  stone,  we  saw  it  to  be  capped  strangely 
with  a  shape  that  thrust  forth  a  neck,  alertly 
poised  ;  and  imagination  saw  two  eyes  like  pink 
beads,  and  filled  with  fear.  Water  tortoises, 
discerning  reader,  and  a  numerous  colony  thereof. 
At  our  near  approach  we  saw  them  scuttling 
into  deep  water,  muddying  the  shallows  with 
cloudy  trails. 

Kefr  Sabt  was  our  next  experience — a  hot, 
dusty  village  of  mud  houses  and  hostile  Algerian 
settlers.  A  company  of  men  squatting  within 
the  shadow  of  a  wall  met  us  with  dull,  frigid 
looks.  There  had  not  been  less  of  friendship 
and  welcome  in  a  shower  of  arrows.  As  the 
Christian  dogs  were  seen  approaching,  the  women 
had  slunk  away  to  their  burrows,  while  the 
children  went  and  hid  in  the  maze  of  rude  walls 
and  houses. 

We  comported  ourselves  amiably,  all  un- 
responsive to  this  timid,  sulky  enmity;  for, 
however  little  these  people  might  favour  our 
presence,  we   had   occasion   to   tarry  awhile  in 


154      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

the  village,  that  my  brother  might  secure  some 
record  of  its  primitive  architecture.  Solomon 
and  Mahomet,  in  a  manner  deliberately  ungentle 
(for  hostile  fanaticism  needs,  in  their  opinion, 
to  be  cowed),  mentioned  our  purpose  to  the 
squatting  Arabs,  who  stared  and  listened  in 
silence,  refusing  to  be  interested. 

Yet  stolid  ignorance  was  not  proof  against 
the  promptings  of  curiosity.  That  I  also  might 
carry  away  a  memento  of  the  place,  I  shot  out 
the  lanky,  telescoped  legs  of  my  tripod,  and 
made  ready  to  take  a  photograph.  All  those 
eyes  by  the  wall  were  soon  bent  upon  a  proceed- 
ing so  foreign  to  the  familiar  happenings  of 
Arab  existence,  and,  ere  I  had  adjusted  my 
focus,  a  tall,  thin  man  rose  and  loitered  towards 
me — a  man  whom  I  had  already  noted  for  a 
certain  hint  of  humour  that  distinguished  his 
brown  face  from  those  of  his  fellows.  As  he 
drew  near  I  turned,  and,  by  way  of  assurance 
that  I  was  more  of  man  than  monster,  directed 
full  at  him  a  smile  of  frankness  and  fraternity. 
At  his  responsive  grin  the  barriers  were  removed 
that  divide  two  races  and  religions,  and  the 
essential  brotherhood  of  humanity  was  vindi- 
cated. 

By  pantomime  we  found  our  way  to  relations 
of  cordiality  and  comprehension,  and  I  made 
myself  understood  as  desiring  that  some  children 
should  come  forth  as  subjects  for  my  camera. 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes 


i55 


Gathering  his  decayed  robes  more  tightly  about 
him,  he  took  long  strides  to  a  neighbouring 
mound,  whence  he  beckoned  and  shouted  to- 
wards a  region  where  I  saw  little  faces,  grave 
and  unyouthful,  bob  up  and  down  behind  a 
substantial  barricade  of  mud  and  stones. 

These  poor  mirthless  children,  tutored  to  a 
fear  and  hatred  of  the  Christians,  would  not 
come  to  be  photographed.  But  now  that  one 
of  the  untidy,  bare-legged  Arabs  had  risen  to 
the  nobility  of  brotherhood,  his  companions, 
inspired  by  healthy  example,  gathered  also 
about  the  photographer,  forgetting  their  disdain 
of  him  in  the  wonder  excited  by  his  little  black 
box  of  mysterious  mechanism.  Yet  when  the 
time  came  for  us  to  mount  our  horses  and  be 
gone,  we  had  no  farewell  salutations,  and  our 
departure  was,  I  cannot  doubt,  a  weight  off  the 
minds  of  the  little  ones. 


156      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

On  we  journeyed  till  the  hour  for  lunch  found 
us  at  a  broad  track  which,  since  the  days  of  Saul 
of  Tarsus,  has  been  used  by  caravans  passing 
between  Jerusalem  and  Damascus.  Here  were 
the  ruins  of  a  spacious  khan  built  centuries 
ago  to  afford  shelter  and  refreshment  to  the 
travelling  merchants.  Kestrels  were  moving, 
in  strong  curves  of  flight,  about  the  old,  iron- 
grey  walls ;  and  we  saw  them  enter  black 
chasms  in  the  crumbling  masonry  where  they 
had  their  nests. 

It  had  been  a  morning  of  brilliant,  hot  sun- 
shine, so  that,  though  we  wore  pith  helmets 
and  had  given  our  waistcoats  to  Mahomet,  both 
of  us  had  drooped  in  the  saddle,  half-baked  and 
perspiring.  For  my  part,  having  dispatched  an 
ample  meal  (and  let  the  climate  of  Palestine 
here  be  commended  for  its  hunger-producing 
quality),  I  lay  down  and  slept,  omitting  to 
dream  that  we  were  beset  by  robbers.  Physical 
unease,  had  that  peradventure  been  my  portion, 
would  by  a  natural  sequence  have  put  that  ill 
fancy  in  my  brain ;  for,  ere  I  closed  my  eyes, 
Solomon — having  exchanged  earnest  talk  on  the 
point  with  Mahomet — apprised  us  that  the  place 
had  an  ugly  name  for  harbouring  certain  small- 
souled  thieves,  who  preyed  on  unprotected 
travellers. 

On  awakening  from  my  nap  (and  there  was 
evidence  on  my  brother's  easel  that  it  had  been 


a 

Q 


U 


-  Amid  Hostile  Tribes  157 

of  some  duration),  I  was  reminded  of  this  matter 
on  seeing  Solomon  and  Mahomet — who  them- 
selves were  wont  to  slumber  after  the  midday 
meal — still  sitting  together  how  last  I  had  seen 
them,  wakeful  and  whispering,  and  now  with 
their  eyes  bent  suspiciously  on  three  dark- 
visaged,  ragged  Bedouins  loitering  some  few 
hundred  yards  away.  But  if  there  was  mischief 
in  the  strangers'  minds  (and  for  my  part,  in  the 
absence  of  evidence,  1  preferred  to  think  other- 
wise) there  was  a  wholesome  discretion  in  their 
hearts ;  for,  trying  none  of  their  tricks  upon  us, 
they  presently  took  themselves  off. 

Solomon  thereupon  arose,  and,  filling  a  cup 
at  the  brook,  took  a  draught  to  the  confusion 
of  horse-thieves  and  all  miscreants.  But  this, 
in  the  estimation  of  my  brother,  was  to  court 
a  more  formidable  peril  than  the  unkempt 
wanderers  had  presented ;  for  the  brook,  cours- 
ing sluggishly  across  the  track  of  travellers,  was 
none  too  sparkling,  besides  containing  tadpoles. 

Smiling  in  full  confidence  that  he  acted  dis- 
creetly, Solomon  filled  and  drained  the  cup 
anew,  and  then — not  for  the  first  time — unfolded 
his  philosophy  on  the  anxious  drink  question. 
We  were  right  in  our  Spartan  resolve,  he  con- 
ceded, that  no  Palestine  water  should  pass  our 
lips  before  it  had  been  boiled.  But  for  him 
and  Mahomet  the  precaution  was  needless. 
Their  native  blood  was  armed  against  the  subtle 


158      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

germs  that  might  set  up  fever  in  our  foreign 
blood. 

Whether  Solomon  was  fully  justified  in  those 
conclusions  is  a  point  on  which  a  later  occur- 
rence will  be  seen  to  throw  some  doubt.  Mean- 
while we  continued  our  way  through  that 
interesting  scenery,  the  afternoon  yielding  us 
a  delightful  little  surprise.  For  we  came  upon 
a  bit  of  Africa — a  family  of  negroes  with  their 
picturesque  cluster  of  tents  built  of  reeds.  Even 
Solomon  seemed  to  have  no  very  definite  idea 
how  those  people  came  to  be  there.  Knowing 
he  had  a  range  of  languages  equal  to  most 
emergencies,  I  asked  him  to  interview  the  big- 
lipped  woman  who  was  regarding  us  with  so 
frank  and  friendly  a  smile. 

Of  the  sustained  and  animated  conversation 
that  took  place  between  them,  he  afterwards 
supplied  this  summary: 

"  I  ask  her  if  she  not  go  back  to  her  country. 
She  says  she  waiting  to  die,  because  her  husband 
die  here."  And  since  the  black  face  shone  with 
health  and  contentment,  I  took  this  to  mean 
that  the  good  soul  wished  to  end  her  days  at 
that  place,  to  which  her  heart  was  linked  by 
associations  of  tender  sadness.  That  life  still 
held  for  her  some  palpable  attractions  was 
suggested  by  the  sight  of  several  juvenile  blacks 
who  came  to  gaze  at  the  two  white-faced 
strangers  sitting  on  horses.     But  I  cannot  doubt 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes 


I59 


THE  RUINED  KHAN 


that  those  little  ones,  when  they  afterwards 
compared  impressions  of  their  visitors,  must 
have  classed  my  brother  and  myself  far  below  one 
whose  complexion  was  a  compromise  between 
their  colour  and  ours.  In  truth,  while  Solomon 
contented  himself  with  talking,  and  the  two 
Englishmen  did  nothing  but  look  on,  Mahomet 
rose  to  a  truer  sense  of  his  opportunities. 


160      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Human  nature  is  superior  to  mere  differences 
of  race  and  climate,  and  a  curly-haired  picca- 
ninny has  no  less  a  zest  for  "  goodies "  than 
the  Eton  boy  whose  father  wears  a  coronet. 
Mahomet  had  come  unprovided  with  sweet- 
meats, but  he  bethought  him  of  the  cakes  of 
unleavened  bread  left  over  from  lunch.  The 
contents  of  the  bag  soon  changed  hands,  and 
thus  the  sum  of  gladness  in  the  world  was 
augmented.  For  those  sable  urchins  devoured 
the  toothsome  windfall  with  grinning  gusto ; 
their  mother's  eye  sparkled  to  see  her  little 
ones  so  favoured ;  while  the  beaming  muleteer 
was  manifestly  happy  in  giving  happiness  to 
others.  All  of  which  goes  to  show  that,  let  a 
man  look  never  so  like  a  blear-eyed  brigand  on 
a  first  acquaintance,  he  may  prove,  when  you  get 
to  know  him,  a  thoroughly  good-hearted  fellow. 

Journeying  through  groves  and  across  rocky 
places,  we  came  into  view  of  Mount  Tabor, 
with  the  appearance  of  which  we  were  destined 
to  become  familiar.  For  we  saw  it  in  several 
aspects  during  the  remainder  of  our  winding 
course  among  the  hills ;  and  when  we  reached 
our  camp,  there  right  ahead  of  us  rose  that 
majestic  green  mountain,  with  the  open  vista 
of  the  huge  Plain  of  Esdraelon  on  the  left  of 
the  picture. 

To  see  a  cave  that  tradition  associates  with 
the  witch  of  Endor,  we  had  come  to  the  village 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes  161 

of  that  name  ;  Solomon  warning  us  beforehand 
that  we  need  expect  no  welcome  from  the 
natives.  We  found  a  group  of  them,  mostly 
children,  regarding  our  tents  from  a  discreet 
distance  and  solemnly  whispering  together.  To 
give  every  opportunity  for  a  friendly  understand- 
ing, my  brother  and  I  presently  advanced 
smilingly  in  their  direction,  and  even  beckoned 
to  them  to  come  closer ;  but  these  overtures 
proved  unavailing.  At  our  approach,  the  elders 
slunk  off  and  the  children  ran  away.  For 
ignorance  begets  hatred  and  hatred  begets  fear. 
Endor  must  rank  in  the  same  dismal  category 
with  Shefr-Amr  and  Kafr  Sabt ;  and  once  more 
we  were  to  marvel  over  the  diverse  mental 
conditions  of  the  people  of  Palestine.  I  began 
to  think  of  that  little  country  as  a  spiritual 
patchwork  of  darkness  and  light. 

But  our  attention  was  soon  engaged  by  a 
matter  of  purely  domestic  interest.  Simon  the 
cook,  asquat  beside  his  pans  and  charcoal  fire, 
looked  more  than  usually  animated ;  and  when 
presently  he  was  joined  by  George  the  waiter,  I 
noticed  the  pair  of  them  chuckling  over  some- 
thing while  they  stole  sly  glances  in  our  direc- 
tion. My  curiosity  aroused,  I  asked  Solomon 
if  he  happened  to  know  what  conspiracy  our 
two  retainers  were  hatching.  Then  it  was  his 
turn  to  look  merry  and  knowing. 

"  For  you   they   make   a  great  surprise,"  he 
ii 


1 62     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

confidentially  explained.  "Always  you  have 
chickens  for  dinner,  every  day  the  same.  So 
you  get  very  tired  of  chickens.  But  this  after- 
noon the  cook  find  a  man  who  sell  him  some 
pigeons.  They  quite  sure  you  both  be  very 
pleased  when  you  look  in  the  dish,  and  find  it  is 
not  chicken  this  time." 

Now  he  mentioned  it,  I  did  recall  that,  in  the 
elaborate  dinners  Simon  continued  to  cook,  and 
George  to  serve,  the  same  species  of  bird  figured 
from  day  to  day  in  the  poultry  course.  But  the 
flesh  of  fowl  had  certainly  not  grown  irksome 
to  me  by  repetition,  nor  in  that  connection  had 
I  heard  one  word  of  criticism  from  my  brother. 
However,  if  the  appeal  to  the  palate  stirred  us 
to  no  great  enthusiasm,  we  found  Solomon's 
disclosure  delightful  enough  on  personal  grounds. 

That  Simon  and  George  should  avail  them- 
selves of  an  opportunity  to  vary  our  menu  was 
merely  a  proof  of  conscientious  service.  But 
that,  having  done  so,  they  should  hug  the 
knowledge  to  their  bosoms,  and  rejoice  together 
over  the  thought  of  our  impending  pleasure, 
revealed  a  state  of  simple-hearted  enthusiasm  to 
which,  in  the  Western  world,  one  is  not  accus- 
tomed in  those  temporarily  engaged  for  domestic 
service. 

When  at  dinner  we  reached  the  innovation, 
my  brother  and  I  did  not  fail  to  demonstrate 
our  approval.     And,  indeed,  those  pigeons  were 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes 


163 


TWO  OF  OUR  GUARDS 


excellent,  as  was  every  other  feature  of  the 
banquet.  Perhaps  I  should  rather  say  that  we 
were,  as  usual,  in  an  appreciative  key.  The 
leisurely  dinner  of  many  courses  is  an  institution 
with  which,  speaking  generally,  I  find  myself  out 
of  sympathy.  Before  the  function  is  well  started 
I  am  apt  to  wish  that  the  waiter  would  bring 
me  a  plate  of  meat,  a  piece  of  bread,  and  some 
vegetables,  and  have  done  with  it.  But  after  a 
long  day  of  interesting  travel  in  the  hot  Palestine 
sunshine,  when  you  are  restfully  seated  under 


164      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

canvas  with  your  face  fanned  by  the  cool 
evening  air,  I  think  no  method  of  taking 
nourishment  would  seem  too  deliberate. 

At  Endor  the  stage  of  coffee  and  compla- 
cency had  been  reached  when  the  abrupt 
entrance  of  Solomon  served  to  remind  us  that, 
however  contented  we  might  be,  other  people 
had  their  little  troubles.  It  was  easy  to  see  that 
something  had  upset  our  excellent  dragoman. 

"  What  you  think  ?  "  he  burst  forth  ;  and, 
speaking  under  stress  of  emotion,  he  took  us  into 
his  confidence.  It  was  the  old  trouble,  but  in 
an  aggravated  form.  The  people  of  Endor  had 
refused,  bluntly  and  with  some  venom,  to  provide 
us  with  a  guard,  their  inclination  apparently 
lying  rather  in  the  direction  of  plundering  than 
of  protecting  us. 

"They  not  like  you,"  Solomon  went  on, 
"  because  they  know  you  are  English.  So  I  tell 
them  you  not  English — you  Germans." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  my  brother  and  I. 

"  I  tell  them,"  continued  Solomon,  as  he 
wearily  passed  a  hand  across  his  brow,  "  that 
you  great  friends  of  the  German  Emperor,  and 
if  somebody  come  and  rob  you,  the  people  of 
Endor  be  very  sorry  afterwards,  because  it  make 
the  German  Emperor  angry  against  them." 

"But,  I  say,  Solomon,"  protested  my  as- 
tounded brother,  "  we  can't  allow  that  sort  of 
thing,    you    know."       It    certainly    was    most 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes  165 

humiliating  to  have  had  that  falsehood  told  on 
our  behalf — a  falsehood,  by  the  way,  which  was 
not  only  unpatriotic  but  foolish,  since  a  Union 
Jack  fluttered  from  each  of  our  tents. 

"  No  matter  is  that,"  was  Solomon's  comment 
when  we  mentioned  the  flags.  "  I  make  them 
afraid,  and  after  some  more  talk  they  send  two 
men  to  be  soldiers  for  us.  Ah ! "  he  added, 
again  stroking  his  forehead,  "  to-night  I  have 
headache."  Whereupon  my  brother,  having 
examined  him  narrowly  and  felt  his  pulse, 
arrived  at  a  conclusion  which  tended  to  explain 
and  excuse  Solomon's  deplorable  diplomacy. 
He  was  somewhat  feverish ;  so,  having  admon- 
ished him  to  be  more  careful  in  future  what 
water  he  drank,  we  administered  quinine  and 
ordered  him  to  bed. 

Nor  was  there  any  reason  to  doubt  the  sound- 
ness of  our  treatment ;  for,  following  a  night 
that  was  attended  by  no  untoward  incident,  we 
awoke  next  morning  to  find  Solomon  fully 
restored  to  health. 

After  breakfast  we  set  off  to  visit  the  cave, 
and  soon  found  that,  whatever  our  nationality 
was  presumed  to  be,  we  were  still  out  of  public 
favour.  But  the  sour  looks  of  those  Endor  folk 
were  quickly  forgotten  in  the  interest  excited  by 
their  cave — a  spacious  and  shapeless  cavity  in 
the  crust  of  the  earth  ;  a  rock-chamber  of  nature's 
making.      Having    walked    down   the    sloping 


1 66      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

pathway  into  the  interior  gloom,  we  looked  back 
at  the  huge,  irregular  entrance  hole  whence 
came  light  and  air.  There  was  ample  head 
room.  We  trod  the  dust  of  ages  worn  from  the 
protruding  rocks. 

Penetrating  to  the  end  of  the  pathway,  I 
confronted  the  dim  shimmer  of  water ;  but  how 
far  the  pool  extended,  and  what  lay  beyond,  the 
darkness  prevented  me  from  seeing.  Meanwhile 
my  brother,  his  fancy  taken  by  the  patch  of 
blue  sky  framed  by  the  rugged  entrance,  sat  on 
a  boulder  to  sketch  that  effect ;  and  when,  a 
minute  later,  I  turned  from  watching  his  pre- 
parations to  look  again  into  the  depths  of  the 
cave,  behold  a  transformation !  I  could  clearly 
discern  a  wall  of  rock  that  lay  beyond  the  sheet 
of  water.  For  my  eyes,  attuned  to  the  gloom, 
had  now  a  keener  perception  than  when  I  arrived 
out  of  the  powerful  sunlight. 

To  test  whether  the  photographic  lens  would 
see  what  had  at  first  been  hidden  from  me,  I  set 
my  camera  in  a  position  to  receive  the  image, 
leaving  it  there  for  a  liberal  exposure.  And 
since  my  presence  was  not  a  necessary  condition 
of  this  experiment,  I  set  off  for  a  stroll  in  the 
open  air — an  example  Solomon  lost  no  time  in 
following.  Outside  the  cave  we  found  a  number 
of  sulky  villagers  muttering  together ;  but,  paying 
no  heed  to  them,  we  took  our  saunter  in  the 
neighbourhood. 


Entrance  to  Cave  at  Endor — the 
reputed  Cave  of  the  Witch 


Harold  Copping 


Amid  Hostile  Tribes  16) 

The  state  of  affairs  to  which  we  returned, 
about  ten  minutes  later,  put  the  people  of  Endor 
lower  than  ever  in  my  estimation.  It  seemed 
that,  if  they  held  aloof  from  the  cave  while  all 
three  of  us  were  there,  their  united  courage  was 
equal  to  confronting  a  single  stranger  tem- 
porarily cut  off  from  his  allies.  So  by  twos  and 
threes  they  had  swarmed  into  the  cavern,  to 
squat  around  the  artist  and  scoff,  snarl,  and 
spit  at  him,  while  he  went  on  quietly  with 
his  work. 

"  But  I'm  glad  you've  come  back,  Solomon," 
added  my  brother,  as  he  put  some  finishing 
touches  to  his  sketch,  "for  I  should  like  you 
to  ask  them  why  they  have  been  behaving  in 
this  silly  and  undignified  way." 

"They  say,"  explained  the  dragoman,  after 
making  indignant  inquiries,  "  that  it  a  great 
shame  you  come  here  to  bewitch  their  spring." 

Meanwhile  I  had  been  relieved  to  find  that, 
whatever  they  may  have  thought  of  my  camera, 
they  had  lacked  the  hardihood  to  kick  it  over. 


CHAPTER  XII 

In  Issachar 

Nain — A  well  surrounded  by  flowers — "The  soup  of  the  shep- 
herds"— Aniseed  and  a  hailstorm — Eagles  on  Little  Hermon — 
Insanitary  Shunem — Its  inert  inhabitants — Inside  a  mud  house 
— Making  pastry  with  pease — A  line  of  hungry  sparrows — 
Mount  Gilboa — Crossing  the  Plain  of  Esdraelon — Jezreel  and 
its  watch-tower — Children,  camels,  and  poultry — A  rainbow 
across  the  blood-red  earth — Jenin — Visit  from  a  Turkish 
official — A  medley  of  noises — The  refreshing  incense  of  early 
morning — My  horse's  unrequested  jump — A  warning  and  a  bog 
— We  nearly  lose  our  horses — "The  Ditch  of  Joseph." 

"D  IDING  from  Endor,  we  saw  in  the  lonely 
■"■  landscape  a  group  of  silent  women  gather- 
ing tares.     And  soon  we  came  to  Nain. 

Nestling  amid  palm-trees  and  hedges  of 
prickly  pear,  the  well  proved  a  beautiful  old 
arched  piece  of  ruddy  masonry.  Water  issued 
along  the  groove  of  a  projecting  stone,  and 
above  that,  as  though  for  ventilation,  was  a  sort 
of  window.  Through  it  I  peered  into  damp 
darkness. 

All  round  the  well  a  wild  geranium  grew 
luxuriant. 

"That,"  Solomon  explained,  "is  soup  of  the 

168 


In  Issachar 


169 


shepherds.  The  flowers  are  cooked  by  the 
Bedouins  to  make  what  you  call  tea.  With 
onions  and  sour  lemons  it  very  nice  salad. 
When  there  is  famine  all  of  the  plant  the 
Bedouins  eat.     It  very  healthy  for  the  chest." 

Passing  out  of  Nain,  we  were  crossing  a  field 
of  aniseed 
when  there 
burst  upon 
us  a  hail- 
storm of 
such  fury 
that,  hasti- 
ly  d  i  s- 
mounting 
from  our 
frightened 
horses,  we 
had  all  we 
could  do 
to  check  a 
stampede. 
But  ten 
minutes 

later  the  sun  came  out  to  dry  our  satura- 
ted clothes ;  and,  pushing  on,  we  were  soon 
skirting  the  base  of  Little  Hermon — a  pleasant 
eminence  which,  in  the  domain  of  natural  history, 
provided  a  disappointment.  Solomon  had  en- 
couraged us  to  expect  glimpses  of  numerous 


170     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

gazelles  ambling  about  the  mountain  slopes. 
But  the  only  creatures  I  saw  up  there  were 
several  eagles  perched  on  projecting  rocks. 

Approaching  Shunem  through  a  dainty  cul- 
tivated grove,  we  thought  what  a  pretty  village 
it  must  be.  But  Shunem  disappointed  our  eyes 
and  offended  our  noses.  A  dirty  disorder  of 
mud  hovels  divided  by  pathways  encumbered 
by  garbage — that  was  what  we  saw  and  smelt. 
Insanitary  areas  in  the  Western  world  are 
necessarily  associated  with  civilized  architecture. 
Shunem  looked  like  a  prehistoric  slum. 

And  here  we  met  one  more  distinct  variety 
of  Palestine  people.  What  the  inhabitants  of 
Shunem  appeared  to  lack  was  ambition.  They 
seemed  stricken  with  inertia,  as  though  life, 
reduced  to  a  dull  round  of  dirt  and  laziness, 
had  lost  all  interest  for  them.  Our  arrival  did 
not  serve  to  rouse  them  from  their  stupor. 
A  want  of  spirit  obviously  rendered  them  equally 
incapable  of  Nazareth  friendliness  and  Endor 
hostility. 

Now  I  came  to  think  of  it,  we  had  our  first 
clue  to  the  mental  condition  of  that  village 
before  we  actually  reached  it.  For,  as  we 
approached  the  cultivated  grove,  a  listless  appeal 
for  baksheesh  sounded  in  our  ears,  and,  turning 
our  heads,  we  found  that  it  came  from  two 
untidy  youngsters  lying  on  the  ground  some 
fifty  yards  away.     Since  neither  of  them  moved, 


In  Issachar 


171 


AN  INTERIOR  AT  SHUNEM 


it  was  clear  that,  if  we  were  minded  to  grant 
their  petition,  we  must  needs  carry  our  offering 
to  them. 

"  They  seem  pretty  cool  young  customers," 
I  said  to  Solomon.  But  he  only  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  told  me  about  a  drowning  Arab 
who,  with  his  last  gurgling  words,  demanded 
baksheesh  of  the  two  Europeans  who  were 
vainly  striving  to  rescue  him. 

We  made  bold  to  enter  one  of  the  forbidding 
dwellings,  where  we  found,  asquat  on  the  floor, 
two  cats,  one  dog,  and  a  woman.  She  smiled  no 
welcome,  nor  betrayed  any  resentment  at  our 
intrusion.  Replying  in  sluggish  monosyllables 
to  Solomon's  questions,  she  continued  to  pound 


172      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

pease  in  an  earthenware  vessel — with  a  view,  as 
we  learnt,  to  the  making  of  pastry.  If  externally 
the  walls  presented  an  uncouth  aspect  of  dried 
mud,  they  were  lined  evenly  enough  inside  with 
a  surface  of  cement. 

An  interior  so  simple  and  primitive  suggested 
a  deep  interest.  For  this  apartment  could 
scarcely  be  different,  one  supposed,  from  that 
other  chamber  in  Shunem  where,  years  ago,  a 
faithful  woman  set  a  bed,  and  a  table,  and  a  stool, 
and  a  candlestick,  to  serve  the  needs  of  Elisha. 

From  that  sombre  village  I  brought  away 
one  bright  memory.  A  flock  of  hungry-looking 
sparrows  alighted  in  a  long  line  on  a  mud  wall, 
to  address  urgent  chirpings  to  us  as  we  went 
by.  It  was  the  daintiest  demand  for  baksheesh 
that  had  happened  on  our  travels ;  and  the 
concessions  we  made  from  our  luncheon  parcels 
met  with  a  flutter  of  joyous  appreciation.  It 
certainly  was  a  point  to  the  credit  of  Shunem 
that  its  sparrows  were  so  unafraid  of  man. 

Gaining  the  sweet-smelling  open  country,  we 
descended  to  the  place  where  dismayed  Saul  and 
his  people  were  overwhelmed  in  battle.  Storm 
clouds  lowered  over  the  gloomy  heights  of  Mount 
Gilboa,  and  the  sky  threw  great  shadows  on  the 
Plain  of  Esdraelon,  which  stretched  in  drear 
perspective  to  the  limit  of  sight.  We  rode  on 
in  silence  and  awe  to  find  geography  so  impres- 
sively in  key  with  history. 


In  Issachar  173 

After  a  ride  of  some  three  miles  on  the  level 
ground,  and  having  crossed  the  new  railway 
track,  we  mounted  a  gradual  slope  to  Jezreel, 
conspicuous  afar  off  by  reason  of  its  one  building 
rising  high  above  the  others — a  fact  startling  to 
the  imagination.  And,  indeed,  that  modern 
watch-tower  of  Jezreel  may  well  be  standing  on 
the  old  site. 

A  jumble  of  camels,  poultry,  and  people  per- 
ambulating ground  black  and  damp  with  dung 
and  dirt — such  was  Jezreel.  No  less  squalid 
than  Shunem,  it  was  far  more  animated.  The 
adults  regarded  us  with  amused  toleration,  while 
herds  of  children,  running  round  our  horses,  cried 
with  one  voice  for  baksheesh.  We  did  not  linger 
in  their  midst,  for  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close, 
and,  as  Solomon  anxiously  pointed  out,  we  were 
still  two  hours'  ride  from  our  camp. 

By  another  route  we  again  descended  into  the 
Plain,  and  behold !  the  scene  spoke  once  more 
of  the  stricken  army  of  Israel  pursued  by  the 
Philistine  hosts.  In  that  great  arena  the  fancy 
saw  a  lake  of  blood.  For  an  expanse  of  the 
ruddy  earth,  newly  turned  by  the  plough,  was 
bathed  in  crimson  light  from  the  sun  that  hung 
low  in  the  western  sky.  And  suddenly  we  saw 
the  flat  vista  arched  by  a  great,  unbroken  rain- 
bow. The  Plain  of  Esdraelon  will  ever  live 
in  my  mind  as  a  theatre  of  vast  and  awful 
effects. 


174      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

We  rode  into  camp  at  Jenin  when  the  warm 
afterglow  of  sunset  mingled  with  the  pale 
light  of  the  moon.  And  now  the  spirit  of  all 
things  was  changed,  and  we  relapsed  into  homely 
experiences.  On  a  stretch  of  turf  before  our 
tents,  three  little  laughing  Turkish  boys — I 
precisely  state  a  fact — were  playing  hop,  skip, 
and  jump.  Fellow  travellers  had  bivouacked,  in 
tents  like  ours,  not  a  hundred  yards  away.  Over 
where  the  city  lay,  three  graceful  palm-trees 
were  nodding  in  the  breeze.  The  voices  of  frogs 
sounded  in  sustained  chorus.  And  a  fat  Turkish 
soldier  came  to  examine  our  passports. 

By  pantomimic  imitation  of  florid  penmanship, 
he  showed  a  ready  grasp  of  the  nature  of  my 
calling,  the  case  of  my  brother  presenting  more 
difficulty  to  the  official  mind.  But  it  was  on  a 
series  of  attempts  to  pronounce  "  Copping  "  that 
our  visitor  concentrated  his  energies,  he  being 
conscientiously  bent  on  jotting  down  a  phonetic 
equivalent  in  Arabic. 

I  shall  always  remember  Jenin  for  a  night  of 
noises.  Soldiers  blowing  whistles  joined  with 
the  splash  of  heavy  rain  to  assist  a  din  in  which 
braying  asses,  howling  jackals,  and  the  unceasing 
frogs  took  part.  And  this  was  the  greater  hard- 
ship for  us  since,  because  of  the  extent  of  country 
to  be  traversed  on  the  morrow,  we  had  to  break- 
fast and  be  moving  soon  after  sunrise.  For, 
under  Solomon's  arrangements,  we  were  visiting 


In  Issachar  175 

Jenin  merely  for  the  advantage  it  afforded  as  a 
camping  ground :  conditions  suitable  for  sleep 
being  apparently  deemed  of  less  account  than 
the  protection  of  soldiers. 

But  early  rising  brought  its  rich  reward. 
Wondrous  pleasant  we  found  it  to  be  riding 
through  fair  Issachar  in  the  cool,  sweet  morning. 
Purple  and  pale  gold  were  the  mountains,  and 
the  air  was  perfumed  with  honey  and  flowers. 
How  young  the  day  was  we  had  droll  reminder 
in  the  aspect  of  a  little  owl  that  stood  belated 
on  a  stone  by  the  wayside,  blinking  sleepily  at  so 
much  daylight. 

My  brother  and  I,  not  for  the  first  time,  broke 
into  a  trot — such  was  the  practical  proficiency  we 
had  by  this  time  acquired  in  the  saddle.  But 
presently  I  was  to  perform  a  much  more  note- 
worthy, if  quite  unintentional,  feat  of  horse- 
manship. 

There  being  no  definite  track  to  restrict  our 
line  of  advance,  I  was  somewhat  apart  from  the 
others  on  approaching  a  dry  water-course  of 
some  considerable  width.  Each  bank  had  a 
gradual  slope,  and  that  my  horse  would  walk 
down  one  bank  and  up  the  other  was  a 
supposition  to  which  I  contemplated  no  alter- 
native. What  actually  happened  was  this. 
When  we  arrived  at  the  first  bank,  my  horse's 
body  straightened  under  me,  a  gust  of  air  fanned 
my  temples,  and  we  were  on  the  other  bank. 


176     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

I  was  still  a  prey  to  startled  astonishment,  not 
yet  fully  realizing  the  exploit  to  which  my 
acrobatic  quadruped  had  made  me  a  party,  when 
Solomon  rode  up  in  hot  haste  to  offer  his 
congratulations. 

"  Very  fine  you  make  your  horse  jump,"  was 
his  enthusiastic  way  of  putting  it.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  my  horse  had  made  me  jump,  and  in 
more  senses  than  one. 

Since  I  am  telling  of  things  in  the  order  of 
their  happening,  that  little  episode  of  frivolous 
panic  now  leads,  by  an  incongruous  transition,  to 
the  story  of  a  stern  peril  in  which  all  four  horses 
and  riders  were  involved. 

We  were  on  the  Plain  of  Dotham  when  my 
brother  and  I  noted  our  two  companions  in 
grave  altercation.  We  wished  to  visit  the  spot 
where  Joseph  was  placed  in  the  pit  by  his 
brethren ;  and  Solomon  had  asked  Mahomet  if 
he  knew  in  which  direction  it  lay.  Thereupon 
Mahomet,  urging  the  wisdom  of  avoiding  a  risk, 
had  begged  that  we  give  up  the  idea  of  going 
there.  Cautious  Solomon  questioned  him  nar- 
rowly, though  without  discovering  the  nature  of 
the  peril  referred  to.  Indeed,  it  became  clear 
that  Mahomet  did  not  himself  know  what  it  was. 
He  had  heard  there  was  a  peril,  that  was  all  he 
could  say,  and  he  begged  that  we  would  keep 
away  from  the  "  Ditch  of  Joseph,"  as  the  place 
was  named  by  the  Arabs.     Repeating  what  he 


In  Issachar 


177 


had  heard,  perplexed  Solomon  left  the  decision 
to  us. 

My  brother  agreed  with  me  in  attaching 
small  importance  to  the  vague  fears  of  an  un- 
lettered Moslem,  and  so  our  decision  was  to 
push  on,  coupled  with  an  undertaking  to  come 
back  for  Mahomet  should  he  prefer  not  to  share 
in  the  adventure.  After  that,  we  all  set  off  for 
the  Ditch  of  Joseph,  our  worthy  muleteer  taking 
it  upon  himself  to  lead  the  way.  For  it  seemed 
that,  some  years  before  he  heard  evil  of  the 
place,  he  went  there  with  a  party  of  travellers. 

When  within  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  of 
the  well  —  for  Mahomet  pointed  it  out  to 
Solomon,    who    pointed     it    out    to    us  —  we 


"  WE  WERE  SKIRTING  A  PLANTATION  OF  FRUIT  TREES  " 


12 


178      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

happened  upon  soft  ground.  Riding  in  close 
formation,  we  were  skirting  a  plantation  of  fruit 
trees.  It  was  a  beautiful  scene  of  sheltered  and 
luxuriant  vegetation.  And,  as  I  say,  we  chanced 
to  be  treading  wet  earth  —  an  experience  so 
familiar  as  to  excite  no  attention. 

An  appalling  development  came  abruptly,  and 
the  air  suddenly  rang  with  our  shouts.  Each 
rider  became  aware  that  the  other  horses  were 
sinking.  At  least,  my  first  knowledge  merely 
concerned  the  plight  of  my  companions.  But  a 
second  later  I  realized,  by  the  behaviour  of  my 
own  poor  beast,  that  my  case  was  not  different 
from  theirs.     We  were  all  floundering  in  a  bog. 

The  mind,  the  voice,  the  limbs — how  quick  they 
are  to  act  in  an  emergency.  By  some  imperious 
instinct,  here  were  all  four  of  us  most  ener- 
getically doing  the  right  thing  to  be  done  when 
one  is  sinking  in  a  bog  on  horseback — nay,  not 
merely  doing  it,  but  employing  part  of  our 
strength  in  exhorting  each  other  to  do  the  same. 

"  Keep  going  !  Don't  stop,  whatever  you  do  ! 
Bang  away  !     Stick  to  it !     Keep  him  moving  !  " 

As  nearly  as  I  afterwards  remembered,  those 
were  the  wild  words  with  which  the  two  English- 
men awoke  the  echoes.  And  the  sense  of  the 
shouting  in  Arabic  was  manifestly  much  the  same. 

I  had,  earlier  in  the  morning,  plucked  a  cane 
of  anise  to  serve  me  for  a  goad.  With  that  I 
rained  blows  on  my  struggling,  panting,  terrified 


In  Issachar  179 

steed.  Solomon  had  the  stout  walking-stick  his 
right  hand  ever  clutched.  Mahomet,  on  the 
heavily-burdened  horse,  swung  the  short  length 
of  stout  rope  he  was  wont  to  use  as  a  whip.  My 
brother  had  only  his  heels. 

Since  at  each  plunge  forward  our  horses  sank 
high  above  their  knees,  we  must  on  no  account 
suffer  them  to  pause  in  their  struggles.  It  was 
horrible  to  hear  the  suction  of  the  mud  as  they 
extricated  their  limbs. 

Of  the  extent  of  the  bog  we  had  no  know- 
ledge. A  deeper  stratum  of  yielding  ground 
might  lie  ahead ;  yet  go  ahead  we  must  as  our 
only  chance  of  safety.  To  turn  was  impossible  ; 
a  gentle  bias  either  to  right  or  left  was  the  only 
latitude  allowed  to  discretion. 

My  brother  and  I  were  proceeding  abreast, 
only  a  few  feet  apart,  with  Solomon  just  ahead 
of  him,  and  with  Mahomet,  at  a  longer  interval, 
ahead  of  me.  I  took  guidance  by  what  befell  the 
muleteer. 

He  was  a  picture  of  delirious  energy.  At  one 
instant  his  case  looked  desperate,  the  horse 
almost  inextricable,  the  saddle-bags  dipping  into 
the  mire.  But  with  whirling  blows,  and  a  roar 
of  admonition,  he  made  the  panting  brute  try 
towards  the  left  for  a  better  foothold — a  ma- 
noeuvre that  turned  out  well.  Inch  by  inch,  he 
won  his  way  to  firm  ground. 

Having    my  clue,    I    headed    in   the    same 


180      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

direction,  and  with  the  same  success.  Solomon 
meanwhile  was  forging  to  the  right,  and  gaining 
no  advantage.  Thus  my  brother,  who  had  begun 
by  following  the  horse  in  front  of  him,  was  put 
to  some  delay  in  amending  his  course.  But  he 
joined  Mahomet  on  hard  earth  ere  Solomon 
reached  safety  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bog. 

Physical  peril,  if  stimulating  enough  while  it 
lasts,  is  somewhat  sedative  in  its  after-effects ; 
and  we  were  all  in  the  key  to  be  soothed  by 
the  place  we  had  wrestled  with  death  to  arrive 
at.  And,  indeed,  the  Well  of  Dotham  occurs 
in  as  tranquil  a  scene  as  heart  could  desire, 
with  that  luxuriant  plantation  of  figs  and  apples 
and  apricots  on  one  side,  and,  on  the  other,  an 
expanse  of  flowery  land  stretching  to  the  visible 
track  which,  throughout  the  centuries,  has  been 
worn  by  the  feet  of  merchants  travelling  between 
Gilead  and  Egypt. 

Leaving  our  bemired  horses  free  to  graze  on 
a  stretch  of  new  grass  near  at  hand,  we  sat  on 
stones  beside  the  Ditch  of  Joseph,  which,  instead 
of  assuming  the  form  of  a  fountain,  answered 
to  English  notions  of  a  well.  For  Western  eyes, 
however,  there  was  an  interesting  innovation  in 
that  the  welling  water  flowed  from  the  sunken 
shaft  into  a  semicircular  stone  horse-trough — an 
arrangement  enabling  cattle  to  quench  their 
thirst  without  polluting  the  main  supply.  The 
overflow  coursed  over  the   ground   to  saturate 


In  Issachar  181 

the  morass  into  which  we  had  floundered.  Thus 
at  the  time  of  our  visit  there  was  an  abundance 
of  water.  But  it  was  easy  to  conceive  of  natural 
conditions — exceptional  drought,  or  an  obstruc- 
tion to  the  spring — when  a  well,  or  pit,  in  that 
situation  might  be  dry. 

While  we  tarried  at  that  peaceful  spot,  three 
women  came  there  to  fill  their  water-pots.  Nor 
did  Solomon  suffer  them  to  depart  unchallenged 
by  friendly  jest  and  greeting.  For  some  elation 
is  natural  to  a  dragoman  who  has  evaded  so  dire 
a  mischance  as  the  loss  of  four  valuable  horses. 

Meanwhile  I  had  turned  my  attention  to  photo- 
graphic possibilities  suggested  by  the  presence 
of  our  smiling  visitors — a  circumstance  that  did 
not  escape  their  notice. 

"They  say  you  must  not  make  a  picture  of 
them,"  Solomon  interpreted,  "because  they  are 
poor  people,  so  they  not  look  pretty." 

When  he  transmitted  my  reassuring,  and 
indeed  complimentary,  reply,  those  women  made 
haste  to  shake  their  heads.  But  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  they  were  pleased. 

From  the  Plain  of  Dotham  our  journey  lay 
through  many  an  ancient  olive  grove,  and  across 
hills  whereof  the  southern  slopes  were  cut  into 
narrow  terraces.  Old,  gnarled,  leafless  vines  lay 
here  and  there  upon  those  stony  pathways, 
which  rose  tier  upon  tier  in  proof  of  the  wide- 
spread cultivation  of  grapes  in  years  gone  by. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Samaria 

Paradoxical  Sebastiyeh — Architectural  memorials  of  Herod  the 
Great — Childish  adults — The  traffic  in  antiquities — Solomon  the 
virtuoso — Interrupted  excavations — Tomb  of  John  the  Baptist — 
An  undignified  schoolmaster :  his  appeal  for  baksheesh — A 
civilized  dinner  amid  barbaric  surroundings — Its  disconcerting 
sequel :  a  deadly  snake  under  our  rug — Strange  uproar  in  a 
peaceful  glen — The  quaint  explanation — Our  encampment  at 
Shechem — An  embarrassed  tobacconist— Uses  of  the  turban — 
The  kissing  child  :  ingenious  method  of  securing  baksheesh. 


O  AM  ARIA — known  to-day  as  Sebastiyeh — is 
^  one  of  the  most  astonishing,  interesting, 
and  paradoxical  places  I  have  ever  seen.  More 
vividly,  1  should  think,  than  any  other  town 
in  the  world,  it   shows   the  centuries  reversed, 

with  all  progress  working  backwards.     For  at 

182 


Samaria  1 83 

Samaria  the  rude  barbarism  of  the  present  day- 
is  revealed  in  bewildering  contrast  to  what  I 
am  tempted  to  call  the  modern  civilization  of 
a  remote  past. 

Gradually  mounting  through  disused  vine- 
yards, we  came  to  level  ground  canopied  by 
venerable  olive  trees ;  and,  on  emerging  from 
that  thicket,  we  beheld  something  which,  by 
its  startling  incongruity  with  the  surrounding 
scene,  held  me  speechless.  Upstanding  amid 
the  tangle  of  bushes  were  great  stone  columns, 
stationed  in  a  long  line  at  orderly  intervals — 
columns  thrice  as  tall  as  a  man,  and  of  a  circum- 
ference one's  two  arms  could  only  just  embrace. 

They  were  white,  and  therefore  conspicuous 
amid  the  jungle  of  greenery ;  and,  since  time 
had  etched  evenly  into  the  enduring  stone,  they 
remained  of  perfect  symmetry.  Gazing  at  that 
perspective  of  some  sixty  columns,  I  chanced  to 
think  of  them  as  so  much  solid  human  property ; 
which  suggested  the  questions,  To  whom  did 
they  now  belong,  and  whose  wealth  had  paid 
for  their  erection  ?  Western  scholarship  returns 
an  assured  answer,  but  it  is  an  answer  that  sets 
the  mind  reeling. 

Augustus  gave  Samaria  to  Herod  the  Great, 
who  enriched  it  with  superb  architecture,  in- 
cluding a  colonnade  that  adorned  the  principal 
street  of  the  city.  We  were  looking  at  some 
columns  of  that  colonnade. 


184      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

In  thinking  of  the  enduring  qualities  of  the 
works  of  man,  one  is  apt  to  measure  possibilities 
by  such  length  of  life  as  belongs  to  English 
buildings  of  to-day.  But  here — let  those  realize 
the  fact  who  can — was  masonry  that  had  sur- 
vived the  hazards  of  war,  tempests,  and  earth- 
quake during  many  centuries. 

Pushing  on,  we  came  in  sight  of  Samaria, 
or,  rather,  of  two  Samarias — one  a  cluster  of 
spacious  ruins,  still  bearing  the  stamp  of  archi- 
tectural excellence ;  the  other  modern,  and  built 
largely  of  mud.  Ascending  to  a  grassy  plateau, 
we  arrived  at  our  camp,  around  which  a  goodly 
company  of  Bedouins  were  clustered. 

It  grows,  I  fear,  monotonous  that  I  should 
keep  on  recording  variety  in  the  population  of 
Palestine.  But  Samaria  provided  so  distinctive 
a  class  of  inhabitants  that  I  am  tempted  to 
describe  them  in  terms  that  negative  each  lead- 
ing characteristic  of  the  people  we  had  seen 
elsewhere.  They  were  not  hostile.  They  were 
not  dignified.  They  were  not  inert.  They 
were  not  intelligent. 

Conceive  a  crowd  of  brown-skinned  simple- 
tons, dressed  in  rags  and  full  of  curiosity,  who 
will  come  clustering  around  you  in  a  fever  of 
innocent  excitement  to  see  your  camera,  but  who 
will  all  run  helter-skelter  away  if  you  so  much 
as  say  "  Boo  ! "  to  them.  Such  were  the  people 
of  Samaria.     Apart  from  size,  the  only  difference 


Samaria 


185 


between  adults  and  children  was  that  the  former 
seemed  rather  more  childish  than  the  latter. 
Whichever  way  I  went,  I  had  a  procession  at 
my  heels — all  those  docile  eyes  wide  with  eager 
wonder. 

From   a  little   way   off,    I    noticed    Solomon 


'UPSTANDING  AMID  THE  TANGLE  OF  BUSHES  WERE  GREAT 
STONE  COLUMNS" 

fetch  a  chair  from  our  dining-tent,  and  sit  down 
to  converse  at  ease  with  certain  of  Samaria's 
citizens.  The  incident  proved  a  great  draw. 
Full-grown  men,  their  faces  alight  with  enthu- 
siasm, set  off  at  top  speed,  in  competition  with 
little  children,  to  join  the  dense  circumference 
of  human  beings.  As  I  afterwards  learnt, 
Solomon  had  but  consented  to  see  such  portable 
antiquities  as  were  on  offer. 


1 86      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Delving  in  the  soil,  and  ransacking  ancient 
tombs,  the  Arabs  necessarily  happen  occasionally 
upon  interesting  relics  of  bygone  civilizations. 
At  some  places  in  Palestine  they  also  do  business 
in  imported  counterfeits ;  so  that  the  traveller, 
in  making  purchases,  must  needs  be  circum- 
spect— a  point  on  which  Solomon  gave  us 
frequent  cautions.  It  is,  however,  a  fact,  I 
think,  that  he  himself  stood  in  greater  need  of 
those  warnings  than  we  did. 

My  brother  and  I  bought  only  such  objects 
as  pleased  us  by  their  quaintness  or  beauty — it 
being  a  further  condition  of  each  purchase  that 
the  price  should  be  moderate,  not  to  say 
nominal;  and  therefore  we  ran  small  risk  of 
being  wronged,  since  a  beautiful  thing  is  still 
beautiful  even  though  it  be  but  a  replica. 

Solomon,  on  the  other  hand,  being  something 
of  a  virtuoso,  and  having  his  brain  ever  on  fire 
with  the  hope  of  unique  and  priceless  finds, 
proved  capable  of  paying  substantial  sums  for 
antiquities  about  which,  on  subsequent  re- 
examination, he  came  to  have  his  doubts.  Yet 
presumably  the  collector,  in  this  as  in  other 
spheres,  must  set  the  occasional  reward  against 
a  constant  risk.  At  least  he  has  the  excitement 
of  the  hunt,  even  when  spoils  of  the  chase  are 
denied  to  him. 

Of  all  the  antiquities  acquired  on  our  travels 
by  Solomon,  I  should  expect  those  he  purchased 


Samaria  187 

at  Samarja  to  turn  out  best.  Owing  to  local 
conditions,  genuine  relics  were  more  accessible 
to  the  natives,  it  would  almost  seem,  than 
spurious  substitutes  could  be.  For  one  thing, 
though  on  the  site  of  an  opulent  city,  where 
many  kings  of  Israel  were  believed  to  be  buried, 
Samaria  had  never  until  recently  been  subjected 
to  systematic  excavation.  And  here  let  me  say 
incidentally  that  of  the  huge  antiquities  already 
mentioned — the  Herod  columns — there  seemed 
no  end.  Many  occurred  on  our  camping-ground, 
one  stretching  half  across  the  floor  of  our  sleep- 
ing-apartment ;  and  those  recumbent  memorials 
of  the  past,  deeply  embedded  in  the  soil,  hinted 
at  the  wealth  of  rare  relics  that  doubtless  lay 
deeper. 

Of  this  buried  treasure  we  had  more  definite 
evidence  when,  on  the  morning  following  our 
arrival,  we  were  exploring  Samaria.  For  we 
came  upon  a  great  gaping  pit  newly  dug  to 
a  depth  of  a  dozen  feet  or  more.  It  seemed 
there  had  been  a  recent  local  impulse  to  explore 
below  for  the  royal  tombs  of  ancient  Israel,  it 
being  a  reasonable  surmise  that  each  would 
prove  a  repository  of  marketable  rarities.  But 
the  work,  after  reaching  the  stage  at  which  we 
found  it,  had  been  interrupted  by  order  of  the 
Sultan,  a  stern  message  coming  from  Con- 
stantinople that  all  subterranean  exploration 
must  cease. 


1 88      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Ladders  still  remained  standing  in  the  shaft ; 
so,  while  I  stayed  above  to  photograph  the 
scene,  my  brother  descended  into  the  roomy 
cavity,  where  he  found  that  the  prohibition  must 
have  come  at  a  tantalizing  moment  for  the 
excavators,  since  they  had  already  laid  bare  the 
entrance  to  an  ancient  sepulchre. 

We  found  many  other  matters  to  interest  us 
in  Samaria.  Descending  into  a  moat-like  area, 
we  entered  the  gigantic  ruin  of  a  church  erected 
by  the  Crusaders  to  mark  the  spot  where,  accord- 
ing to  a  tradition  which  modern  research  does 
not  challenge,  John  the  Baptist  was  buried. 
Little  remains  but  roofless  walls  adorned  with 
buttresses,  arched  windows,  and  doorways — roof- 
less walls  that  derive  a  further  charm  from  the 
roothold  they  afford  to  many  shrubs  and  a 
conspicuous  little  tree. 

Wandering  in  paved  courtyards  open  to  the 
sky,  we  came  upon  a  small  domed  structure  of 
later  date,  and  erected,  it  is  supposed,  over  the 
actual  tomb  of  the  Baptist.  Here  Solomort 
also  pointed  out,  on  the  authority  of  a  local 
guide,  the  graves  of  Elisha  and  Obadiah. 

Ever  and  anon  we  heard  the  voices  of  many 
children  raised  in  unison — a  commotion  to  which 
we  had  the  clue  when,  on  coming  to  a  large 
apse,  we  beheld  a  boys'  school  in  full  session. 
The  pupils  with  their  slates  sat  upon  low  benches 
that  formed  a  square  within  the  lines  of  the 


Samaria 


189 


"A  GREAT  GAPING  PIT  NEWLY  DUG" 

chamber,  while  in  a  central  situation  at  the 
back  the  schoolmaster  was  enthroned  on  a  large 
wooden  chair  before  his  desk — a  massive,  bearded, 
complacent  man  in  picturesque  blue  gown  and 
white  turban.  Matting  on  the  stone  floor  was 
held  in  position  by  ponderous  fragments  of 
masonry.  Sunlight  streamed  into  that  spacious 
vaulted  recess,  adding  brightness  to  a  homely 
picture  which  suggested  a  dame's  school  of 
Victorian  England. 

Our  arrival,  I  am  afraid,  caused  a  sad  inter- 


190      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

ruption  to  scholastic  routine.  But  perhaps  for 
those  grinning  little  Moslems  there  was  a  lesson 
to  be  learnt,  and  one  making  for  a  wider  con- 
ception of  humanity,  by  noting  the  behaviour 
of  their  visitors.  The  two  strangers  from  a 
foreign  land  were  crossing  and  recrossing  the 
classroom  in  quest  of  photographic  points  of 
view ;  while  Solomon  and  the  local  guide  sat 
down  unceremoniously  on  one  of  the  trestled 
planks  that  served  as  a  table  for  certain  of  the 
pupils. 

Meanwhile  the  hospitable  schoolmaster  had 
gone  hurrying  off  to  fetch  us  coffee ;  and  the 
excitement  with  which,  on  his  return,  he  espied 
our  cameras,  and  the  alacrity  with  which  he  ran 
to  his  chair  to  pose  for  the  picture,  revealed  an 
innocent  and  juvenile  frame  of  mind  not  often  to 
be  met  with  in  a  schoolmaster. 

I  did  not  find  myself  respecting  this  volatile 
and  pleasant-looking  pedagogue,  but  one  could 
hardly  fail  to  like  him.  To  a  teacher's  character, 
by  the  way,  the  faces  of  his  pupils  supply  a  good 
index.  Than  those  youngsters  of  Samaria,  I 
never  saw  a  class  that  looked  less  cowed.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  did  not  seem  very  studious 
or  enlightened  children. 

When  we  were  minded  to  be  moving  on,  this 
unusual  schoolmaster,  leaving  his  pupils  to  look 
after  themselves,  insisted  on  coming  with  us. 
Walking    beside  my   brother    and    myself,    he 


Samaria  191 

proved  very  chatty  (though  unfortunately  in 
Arabic) ;  and  since  he  conducted  us  to  the 
mosque,  and  led  the  way  to  the  top  of  its  tower, 
we  were  not  altogether  surprised  to  learn,  in  an 
aside  from  Solomon,  that  this  amiable  man  was 
the  priest  as  well  as  the  schoolmaster. 

From  the  minaret  we  gained  a  fine  view  of 
our  surroundings,  and  I  secured  a  photograph  of 
modern  Samaria  as  viewed  from  above.  It 
looked  like  what  might  be  left  of  a  citadel  that 
has  undergone  prolonged  and  severe  bombard- 
ment. Windows  supplied  the  only  suggestion 
of  constructive  skill.  For  the  rest,  mud  was 
supplemented  by  rough,  irregular  pieces  of  stone 
— obviously  the  ancient  city's  contribution  to  the 
modern  village.  A  hooded  structure  on  one  of 
the  flat  roofs  was  a  Palestine  bee-hive,  made 
with  tubes  of  sun-dried  mud. 

When  the  time  came  for  saying  good-bye  to 
the  priest,  my  brother  and  I  received  a  shock. 
For  that  great  man  extended  his  palm  and 
earnestly  petitioned  for  "  Baksheesh !  Bak- 
sheesh ! "  We  gave  him  some,  and  he  received 
it  with  voluble  gratitude. 

No ;  I  could  not  respect  the  schoolmaster  of 
Samaria.  But  seldom  have  I  encountered  a 
personality  that  interested  me  more.  Here  was 
an  entire  village  reflecting  the  individuality  of 
one  man.  And  if  those  people  showed  no 
symptom  of  intellectual  culture,  at   least  they 


192     A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

were  ingenuous  and  good-hearted,  with  minds  un- 
polluted by  any  poisonous  antipathy  to  another 
race  and  religion.  The  mildest  and  kindest  of 
barbarians — that  was  the  thought  I  had  of  them 
as,  running  the  gauntlet  of  their  trustful,  won- 
dering eyes,  we  passed  to  our  tents. 

When  my  brother  and  I  sat  down  to  a  four- 
course  luncheon,  graced  by  snowy  tablecloth, 
gleaming  glass,  and  shining  silver,  we  marvelled 
at  the  strange  contrast  our  imported  civilization 
presented  to  the  scene  outside.  How  completely 
were  comfort  and  luxury  secured  within  the 
charmed  circle  of  our  crimson  shelter !  With 
such  reflections  we  sipped  the  mild  wine  of 
Mount  Carmel,  and  lolled  back  at  our  ease. 
But  this  complacency  proved  to  repose  on  an 
insecure  foundation. 

Since  the  camp  had  to  move  that  afternoon, 
the  work  of  striking  the  tents  was  soon  in  hand. 
When  the  table  had  been  carried  out,  a  muleteer 
began  to  roll  up  the  rug  that  had  lain  under  our 
feet.  But  on  a  sudden  he  shrank  back,  his  cry 
of  alarm  bringing  Mahomet  and  Solomon  quickly 
to  the  scene.  A  snake  had  been  concealed 
beneath  the  rug. 

"  It's  a  killer  !  It's  a  killer  !  "  shouted  horrified 
Solomon,  as  he  made  ready  with  his  walking- 
stick.  And  soon  at  his  hands  the  venomous 
thing  lay  dead. 

Leaving  Samaria  behind   us,  we  rode  across 


>amana 


m 


lovely  hills  and  dales  where  throve  the  olive,  the 
fig,  and  the  pomegranate  ;  and  at  one  time  we 
journeyed  beside  a  rocky  glen  full  of  beauty  and 
peace  and  the  song  of  birds.  Instinctively  my 
brother  and  I  paused,  that  our  eyes  might  take 
their  fill  of  a  delightful  scene  ;  and,  as  we  waited 


SITE  OF  TOMB  OF  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST 

and  watched,  the  solitude  was  suddenly  invaded 
by  a  muffled  uproar  that  came  rumbling  up  from 
one  direction  to  awaken  eerie  echoes  from  the 
other.  We  looked  about  us  in  bewilderment. 
So  far  in  our  experience  of  Palestine  the  spirit  of 
placidity  had  everywhere  reigned.  What  din 
was  this  that  assailed  our  hearing — here,  of  all 
13 


194       A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

places,  at  a  veritable  shrine  of  peace  and 
repose  ? 

The  disturbance  grew  to  be  distinguishable  as 
the  strident  and  urgent  shouting  of  men  ;  and 
the  next  minute  we  were  looking  down  at  one 
of  the  most  grimly  grotesque  processions  I  ever 
remember  to  have  seen.  It  was  a  string  of  mules 
and  horses  and  donkeys,  each  animal  supporting 
a  swaying  heap  of  bundles,  boxes,  chairs,  tables, 
and  I  know  not  what.  Two  squatting  men  were 
part  of  the  luggage,  while  other  men  ran  beside 
and  behind  the  heavily  freighted  beasts,  assailing 
them  with  expostulations,  blows,  and  an  occa- 
sional stone.  A  company  of  robbers  who  had 
despoiled  a  village  and  were  fleeing  with  their 
booty  from  avenging  justice — to  me  the  affair 
looked  nothing  less  than  that. 

One  of  the  fugitives,  on  looking  upward, 
obviously  saw  the  two  horsemen  standing  con- 
spicuous against  the  sky.  He  waved  his  hand  to 
us  ;  and  then,  in  a  flash  of  understanding,  we 
recognised  George  the  waiter,  and  our  own 
caravan.  So  this  was  what  our  beautiful  camp 
looked  like  when  travelling  along  the  road ! 
Viewed  from  a  new  standpoint,  our  imported 
Western  civilization  was  not  without  a  sugges- 
tion of  primitive  barbarism  after  all. 

We  proceeded  on  our  way  in  a  chastened 
spirit,  marvelling  not  a  little  to  have  found 
ourselves   responsible — if  one   traces   effects  to 


Samaria  195 

their  cause — for  the  riot  of  noise  that  had  been 
to  us  so  perplexing  an  enigma. 

My  brother  and  I,  accompanied  by  Solomon 
and  Mahomet,  were  given  to  pauses  on  our 
journey,  and  deviations  from  the  direct  route  ; 
nevertheless  I  was  astounded  when,  an  hour 
later,  we  arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  a  populous 
city,  and  found,  on  a  broad  area  of  turf,  our 
tents  pegged  into  position,  Simon  busy  over  his 
charcoal  fire,  and  George  already  laying  the  cloth 
for  dinner. 

Concerning  Nablus  (the  ancient  Shechem), 
Solomon  had  warned  us  that  we  should  not  like 
its  people  and  they  would  not  like  us.  But  such 
preliminary  dealings  as  we  had  with  them  en- 
couraged me  to  believe  that  he  might  prove 
mistaken.  Promptly  upon  our  arrival,  the 
thoughtful  dragoman  made  known  my  desire 
for  some  tobacco  ;  and  1  had  scarcely  washed 
the  dust  of  travel  from  my  hands  when  I  turned 
to  find,  at  the  opening  of  the  tent,  a  bare- 
headed, swarthy  individual  who,  with  much 
bowing  and  smiling,  extended  a  small  white 
parcel  for  my  acceptance — a  parcel  which,  when 
I  undid  the  folded  linen  wrapper,  proved  to 
contain  a  suitable  sample  of  the  commodity  I 
wished  for.  Having  learnt  beforehand  from 
Solomon  what  would  be  the  probable  price,  I 
tendered  the  necessary  coins,  which  my  visitor 
accepted   without  demur    and   duly  pocketed  ; 


196      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

whereupon  I  readjusted  the  wrapper  about  my 
purchase  and  put  it  in  my  travelling-trunk. 

But  the  obliging  local  tradesman  did  not  take 
his  departure.  In  a  flutter  of  embarrassment, 
he  entered  upon  some  voluble  Arabic  explana- 
tions of  which  I  failed  to  catch  the  drift. 

At  first  I  feared  he  must  be  dissatisfied  with 
his  payment.  But  no ;  on  my  testing  the  matter 
by  producing  some  money,  he  shook  his  head 
and  pointed  eagerly  to  the  travelling- trunk. 
Having  sold  me  the  tobacco,  he  apparently 
wanted  it  back !  The  situation  was  quite  beyond 
me,  so  I  went  and  fetched  Solomon,  whose 
explanation  of  the  mystery  was  attended  by 
more  chuckling  than  the  occasion  seemed  to 
warrant.  It  appeared  that  I  had  bought  only 
the  tobacco  ;  it  was  desired  that  I  would  kindly 
return  the  wrapper. 

After  I  had  done  so,  it  was  my  turn  to  feel 
embarrassed  ;  for,  having  received  the  white  strip, 
the  tobacconist  carefully  smoothed  its  creases  and 
wound  it  about  his  brows. 

I  do  hope  he  quite  understood  that  I  had  not 
knowingly  endeavoured  to  despoil  him  of  his 
turban.  After  his  kindness  in  pressing  it  into 
my  service,  that  would  indeed  have  been  an  un- 
generous attempt  at  sharp  practice.  However, 
as  I  was  comforted  to  notice,  his  manner  of  de- 
parture hinted  at  relief  rather  than  resentment. 

Meanwhile    I    found    myself    entertaining  a 


Samaria  197 

growing  respect  for  Eastern  headgear,  which,  un- 
like the  Western  billycock,  was  clearly  capable, 
at  the  hands  of  a  resourceful  wearer,  of  serving 
many  auxiliary  purposes.  I  did  not  forget  the 
part  played  by  the  turban  in  my  descent  of  the 
Great  Pyramid. 

My  second  human  experience  at  Nablus,  like 
my  first,  scarce  tended  to  confirm  the  harsh 
judgment  Solomon  had  passed  on  the  population. 
I  was  seated  on  a  stool  some  little  way  from  our 
tents,  when  a  pretty  child  toddled  up  to  me, 
climbed  upon  my  lap,  and,  putting  her  tiny  arms 
about  my  neck,  gave  me  a  warm,  delicious  kiss. 

The  spontaneous  caress  of  innocent  childhood 
is,  I  think,  the  most  flattering  mark  of  confidence 
a  man  can  receive  ;  and  that  this  winsome  mite 
should  have  singled  me  out  for  her  favours  set 
my  heart,  I  confess,  in  a  flutter  of  pleasure. 

Following  a  natural  impulse,  I  gave  her 
something  to  buy  sweets  with — which  led  to 
gratifying  proof  of  my  pet's  intelligence.  Instead 
of  putting  the  coins  in  her  mouth,  or  holding 
them  in  the  unreliable  custody  of  a  chubby  fist, 
she  solemnly  deposited  them  in  the  pocket  of  her 
pinafore.  Then,  to  my  regret,  she  slipped  off  my 
lap  and  toddled  away. 

I  am  not,  I  hope,  of  a  jealous  disposition. 
Yet  I  must  confess  to  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment at  what  now  befell.  Chancing  at  that 
moment  to  emerge  from  our  sleeping-tent,  my 


198      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

brother  not  only  met  my  little  darling,  but  was 
attracted  by  the  sweet  appeal  of  her  upturned  face. 

I  saw  him  stoop  to  pat  her  cheek,  and  then — 
could  I  believe  my  eyes  ? — she  put  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  But  the  co- 
incidence went  farther.  For  my  beaming  brother 
had  recourse  to  the  same  method  of  pleasing  the 
little  one  that  I  had  adopted  ;  his  gift  joining 
mine.  I  have  but  to  add  that  my  disappoint- 
ment gave  place  to  sheer  disillusionment  when, 
a  minute  later,  that  affectionate  infant  was 
kissing  a  muleteer — a  dirty,  unshaven,  blear-eyed 
muleteer. 

She  was,  I  suppose,  the  bread-winner  of  the 
family.  At  any  rate,  the  man  who  afterwards 
joined  her — and  who,  having  carefully  picked  the 
pinafore  pocket,  carried  her  off  on  his  shoulder — 
had  not  the  look  of  a  strenuous  toiler. 


View  from  Jacob's  Well. 


Harold  Copping. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Russian  Pilgrims 

Die  Samaritans— Visit  from  the  High  Priest's  son — Narrow-minded 
Nablus — Solomon's  missing  tobacco-box— He  consigns  two  boys 
to  prison — A  disconcerting  discovery — In  the  Vale  of  Shechem 
— Gerizim  and  Ebal — At  Jacob's  Well— On  the  Plain  of 
Lubban — A  mile  of  Russian  pilgrims— Siberian  furs  in  Pales- 
tine sunshine — Teapots  and  simplicity — The  old  woman's 
accident — Unseen  singers  in  the  wilderness — Lamentable  con- 
dition of  the  pilgrims — Bethel  under  a  blue  sky— First  sight  ot 
Jerusalem. 

"I^TABLUS  has  a  population  of  20,000  souls, 
*  ^  including  the  pathetic  remnant  of  that 
people  who,  originating  from  the  ancient  Israel- 
ites, have  survived  through  the  centuries  as  a 
race  distinct  from  the  Jews.  There  are  about  as 
many  Samaritans  in  Nablus  as  of  Herod  columns 
in  Samaria.  O  most  awe-inspiring  links  with 
the  past — these  of  human  flesh,  those  of  enduring 
stone. 

When  we  had  dined,  soon  after  arriving  at 
the  city  that  once  was  Shechem,  Solomon 
ushered  into  our  tent  a  tall,  thin  man  with  a 
black  beard  and  a  countenance  lacking  in  ani- 
mation.    He  was,  we  learnt,  a  son  of  the  High 

199 


200      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Priest  of  the  Samaritans — a  visitor,  therefore, 
who  commanded  in  the  abstract  our  warm 
interest.  Yet  I  can  but  reveal  him  to  my 
readers  in  the  light  of  the  little  human  weakness 
by  which  he  revealed  himself  to  us. 

Returning  only  perfunctory  monosyllables  to 
the  overtures  of  friendly  courtesy  we  tendered 
through  our  interpreter,  he  busied  himself  with 
a  paper  parcel,  whence  he  drew  small  cards  on 
which  a  portrait  of  his  father  was  reproduced. 
These  he  submitted  to  our  scrutiny,  exclaiming 
"  Franc  !  franc  !  "  by  way  of  indicating  the  price 
at  which  he  was  offering  his  goods  for  sale — a 
price,  by  the  way,  which  approximately  repre- 
sented the  rate  per  thousand  at  which  an 
English  jobbing  printer  would  be  glad  to  turn 
them  out. 

My  brother  bought  a  copy,  surrendering  a 
quarter  midjidie  (or  the  rough  equivalent  of 
lOd.)  in  payment.  But  good  intentions  woe- 
fully missed  their  reward.  The  face  of  the  son 
of  the  High  Priest  was  no  longer  expressionless. 
It  had  become  a  mirror  of  frowning  displeasure  ; 
nor  could  we  be  deaf  to  a  fretful  ring  in  the 
Arabic  mutterings  that  accompanied  his  labour 
of  doing  up  the  parcel. 

"  What  is  he  looking  so  black  about  ? "  my 
astonished  brother  asked. 

Solomon  shrugged  his  philosophical  shoulders, 
and  explained :  "  He  say  he  not  take  the  trouble 


Russian  Pilgrims  201 

to  come  if  he  know  he  only  sell  one  card."  And 
thus,  however  much  our  visitor  had  interested 
us  on  his  arrival,  he  denied  us  occasion  to  feel 
regret  at  his  departure. 

Next  day  we  walked  through  Nablus — un- 
doubtedly a  fine  city ;  but  I  did  not  like  it. 
True,  the  eye  was  pleased  by  colour  effects  and 
by  noble  buildings  and  some  beautiful  old  arch- 
ways. True,  again,  we  went  over  the  superb 
English  hospital  and  saw  corridors  of  ailing 
Moslems  under  the  healing  influence  of  Christian 
kindness  and  Western  science. 

But  Solomon's  prophecy  came  true :  because 
that  large  busy  population  of  Mohammedans  did 
not  like  me,  I  did  not  like  them.  Here  and 
there  in  the  streets  they  spat  at  us  ;  which  is  so 
pitiable  a  thing  to  do,  and  argues  a  mind  so 
lacking  in  intelligence  and  culture,  that  Nablus 
is  a  city  I  take  no  pleasure  in  remembering. 

But  while  my  disapproval  of  the  people  applied 
only  to  those  we  met  within  the  city,  Solomon's 
distrust  also  embraced  those  who  visited  us  on 
our  camping-ground.  In  particular  was  his  ire 
inflamed  against  a  group  of  boys  who  hovered 
around  the  tents,  though  they  did  so  in  a  spirit 
of  playfulness  and  curiosity,  as  I  thought,  rather 
than  with  any  felonious  intent. 

Nor  had  anything  happened  to  cause  me  to 
modify  this  opinion  when,  shortly  before  noon, 
we    mounted    our   horses    and    departed   from 


202      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Nablus.  Now,  naturally,  all  thought  of  the 
youngsters  quickly  passed  out  of  my  mind. 
But  when  we  had  been  half  an  hour  upon  the 
road,  the  question  of  their  morals  once  more 
arose.  Searching  his  pockets  in  a  panic,  Solomon 
proclaimed  the  loss  of  his  tin  tobacco-box — a 
possession  he  had  prized  so  greatly  that  there 
were  no  bounds  to  his  anger  against  the  Nablus 
youths,  of  whose  guilt  in  the  matter  he  refused 
to  entertain  a  doubt. 

Following  so  pat  upon  his  misgivings,  there 
certainly  seemed  some  sort  of  prima  facie  case 
against  those  boys ;  but,  as  my  brother  and  I 
pointed  out,  suspicion  was  not  proof,  and  of 
evidence  there  was  none.  Brushing  aside  these 
niceties  of  Western  jurisprudence,  wrathful 
Solomon  eagerly  invited  our  co-operation  on 
these  lines : 

"  If  you  stay  here,  Mahomet  give  you  your 
lunch  while  quickly  I  am  gone  again  to  Nablus. 
You  not  waste  any  time,  because  I  come  back 
before  you  finish  your  lunch." 

"We  shall  be  only  too  pleased,  of  course," 
said  my  brother.  "But  I'm  afraid  you  will  have 
your  trouble  for  nothing." 

"  The  Turkish  soldiers — yes,  I  go  to  them," 
exclaimed  Solomon,  following  his  own  line  of 
thought.  "  They  listen  to  what  I  say."  And 
the  next  minute,  having  slewed  round,  he  was 
galloping  back  along  the  road  we  had  traversed 


Russian  Pilgrims  203 

at  a  walking  pace,  the  rapidly  receding  horse- 
man affording  a  stirring  symbol  of  swift-footed 
justice. 

And,  sure  enough,  by  the  time  we  had  finished 
our  repast,  Solomon  came  careering  back ;  and 
as  he  drew  rein  I  noted  that,  whereas  his  face 
was  empurpled  and  angry  when  he  departed,  he 
returned  with  bright  eyes  and  the  firm  jaw  of  a 
man  who  has  received  satisfaction. 

"Did  you  get  it  back?"  was  our  first 
question. 

"  No,"  said  Solomon,  '*  they  not  tell  us  where 
they  hide  it.  But  three  boys  we  catch,  and  the 
soldiers  beat  them,  and  put  them  in  prison." 

At  which  tidings  my  brother  and  I  were  no 
less  amazed  than  horrified.  Accustomed  to 
cautious  deliberation  in  the  administration  of 
the  criminal  law,  with  trial  by  jury,  and  courts 
of  appeal  as  further  safeguards,  we  found  our 
Western  instincts  in  revolt  against  this  expe- 
ditious Eastern  method  of  squeezing  capture, 
examination,  and  punishment  into  the  space  of 
a  mere  luncheon  interval — a  method  which,  as 
it  seemed  to  us,  left  avenues  for  the  miscarriage 
of  justice.  However,  nothing  availed  to  shake 
Solomon's  conviction  that  retribution  had  fallen 
upon  the  guilty  parties — nothing,  at  least,  but 
the  subsequent  discovery,  which  he  made  with 
great  delight,  that  he  had  not  lost  his  tobacco- 
box   after   all,  it  being  in  the  revolver  pocket 


204      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

of  his  breeches,  where  he  now  remembered  to 
have  placed  it. 

Of  course  we  told  him  that,  even  if  it  meant 
a  day's  delay  in  our  travels,  he  must  return 
post-haste  to  Nablus  and  see  to  the  release 
and  compensation  of  the  youthful  victims  of 
his  mistake.  This  course,  however,  he  stoutly 
refused  to  take,  alleging  that,  if  innocent  of  the 
particular  offence  he  had  laid  to  their  charge, 
they  were  sure  to  deserve  punishment  on  other 
grounds,  and  that  in  any  case  a  little  discipline 
was  good  for  boys. 

We  pressed  our  view  with  some  persistence  ; 
but,  while  indicating  a  readiness  to  take  instruc- 
tions from  us  on  all  matters  affecting  ourselves, 
Solomon  claimed  the  right  to  order  his  personal 
affairs  by  the  light  of  his  own  judgment.  And 
there,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  matter  was  left. 

Meanwhile  we  had  been  traversing  a  region 
beautiful  in  itself  and  rich  with  an  accumulation 
of  sacred  interests.  As  we  passed  down  the 
Vale  of  Sbechem,  we  turned  again  and  yet  again 
to  gaze  at  the  grey -green  heights  of  Gerizim 
and  Ebal — Mount  of  Blessing  and  Mount  of 
Cursing. 

We  paused  awhile  at  Jacob's  Well.  Entering 
a  square  area  of  raised  ground  margined  by  a 
low  wall,  we  descended  into  a  vault  full  of 
shadows  and  solemnity.  It  was  some  time  before 
our  eyes  could  discern  objects  in  the  dim  light. 


Russian  Pilgrims 


205 


Then  we 
saw  project- 
ing masonry 
furnished  as 
an  altar  with 
candles, 
cloths,  and 
censers.  In 
the  middle 
of  the  cham- 
ber was  an 
ancient  time- 
worn  stone 
having  a 
large  circular 
aperture  that 
opened  down 
into  the  darkness  of  the  earth.  With  a  long 
exposure,  I  took  a  photograph  of  that  old  stone, 
which,  according  to  the  inherited  knowledge  of 
Christians,  Jews,  and  Mohammedans,  marks 
the  mouth  of  the  veritable  Jacob's  Well. 

Our  afternoon  ride  took  us  across  large  areas 
of  level  ground  hemmed  about  by  brown  moun- 
tains. In  one  of  those  expanses,  when  we  had 
gone  the  length  of  it,  we  found  our  encampment. 
This  was  the  Plain  of  Lubban ;  and  the  village 
of  that  name — generally  identified  with  Lebonah 
—was,  Solomon  said,  close  at  hand.  But  for 
once  our  tents  were  free  of  visitors.     Whichever 


"AN  ANCIENT  TIME-WORN  STONE' 


206      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

way  I  looked,  there  was  no  man,  or  dwelling,  or 
beast,  nor  any  sign  thereof.  The  eye  swept 
back  over  the  route  we  had  traversed — a  mile 
of  plain  encompassed  by  the  gentle-sloping  up- 
lands— that  vast  amphitheatre  being  one  un- 
interrupted solitude.  And  next  morning,  when 
I  emerged  from  our  sleeping- tent,  those  overnight 
impressions  were  renewed.  Never  had  our  little 
party  seemed  so  utterly  alone  in  the  wilderness. 

I  was  still  looking  at  that  empty,  silent  land- 
scape, when  suddenly  my  eyes  saw  something 
that  was  so  unexpected,  and  so  sharply  in 
contrast  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  that  I 
stood  amazed.  But  the  jagged  black  line  that 
had  emerged  through  the  distant  defile,  and 
was  stretching  towards  us  in  a  continuous 
increase  of  length,  could  mean  but  one  thing. 
Hundreds  of  human  beings  were  pouring  into 
my  solitude. 

Soon  we  all  were  looking,  my  brother  and 
myself  lending  an  eager  ear  to  Solomon's  ex- 
planations : 

"  Plenty  poor  Russians  you  see.  I  hear  they 
make  pilgrimage  this  month  to  the  Holy 
Sepulchre.  Another  party  come  here  two  years 
ago.  They  hire  a  ship  to  bring  them,  and  all  of 
them  squeeze  tight  into  the  ship — five  hundred, 
six  hundred,  eight  hundred,  I  cannot  say.  I 
not  like  to  be  one  of  them,  for  they  not  have 
much   room  to  lie   down  or  wash  themselves. 


PQ 


* 


Russian  Pilgrims  207 

But  they  not  mind  that.  They  very  ignorant 
people — a  great  lot  of  superstition  is  taught  to 
them  in  their  country.  All  their  life  they  save 
money  to  bring  with  them.  They  put  their 
money  into  their  boots  so  they  not  lose  it,  and 
when  they  get  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre  they  give 
it  to  the  Greek  Church  priest,  who  write  down 
their  name  in  a  book.  After  that  they  go  back 
to  their  own  country  very  happy,  because  the 
priest  tell  them  they  get  to  heaven  all  right  when 
they  die." 

What  for  long  held  my  attention  was  the 
number  of  our  visitors.  The  black  line  extended 
to  a  quarter  of  a  mile ;  it  went  on  growing  to 
double  that  length  ;  still  it  stretched  out  until 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  must  have  been  the 
measure — but  not  yet  was  the  end  in  sight.  It 
was  fascinating  to  watch  that  column  coming 
nearer,  while  far  away  it  continued  to  emerge 
through  the  mountain  pass.  Not  until  the  head 
of  the#procession  was  close  upon  us  did  I  at  last 
see  the  tail.  Thus  from  end  to  end  of  the  Plain 
of  Lubban  the  black  line  extended — a  mile  of 
pilgrims. 

Now  the  foremost  of  those  people  were  passing 
within  a  few  yards  of  where  we  stood,  and  pro- 
viding one  of  the  most  impressive  and  pathetic 
spectacles  my  eyes  have  ever  looked  upon. 

Processions  are  identified  in  one's  mind  with 
uniforms,  orderly  marching,  and  perhaps  some 


208      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

accompanying  music.  This  procession  was  de- 
ficient in  all  such  features  of  pageantry.  It  was 
mainly  composed  of  old  men  and  old  women,  all 
being  clad  in  fitness  for  Siberian  snows.  The 
women's  thick  woollen  dresses,  cross-gartered 
stockings,  and  stout  boots,  the  men's  heavy 
overcoats,  astrachan  caps,  and  great  felt  hats, 
the  bundles  and  wraps  slung  upon  their  backs 
or  coiled  around  their  bodies — these  were  woeful 
accessories  for  a  pilgrimage  in  hot  Palestine. 

But  the  strangest  feature  of  their  equipment 
has  yet  to  be  mentioned.  With  the  right  hand 
wielding  a  staff  to  help  them  on  their  way,  the 
men  for  the  most  part  carried  a  teapot  in  the 
other  hand.  This  hinted  at  apparently  the  one 
creature  comfort  they  had  brought  with  them. 
They  had  no  tents,  no  bedding,  and,  as  we  were 
to  learn,  only  a  meagre  provision  of  stale  Russian 
bread.  But  they  had  brought  their  teapots. 
And  many  of  those  stout  old  women  had  brought 
their  stout  old  umbrellas,  on  which  most  01  them 
leaned  for  support  as  they  trudged  along  the 
plain,  while  others  held  them  aloft  and  open  as  a 
protection  against  the  glare  of  the  sun. 

But  it  was  the  kitchen  utensils — those  shining 
symbols  of  a  national  taste — that  held  my 
attention.  You  may  journey  from  one  end  of 
England  to  the  other  without  meeting  a  man 
carrying  a  naked  teapot.  And  here  were 
hundreds    of    Russians    travelling     through     a 


Russian  Pilgrims 


209 


strange  land   far   from   home,    and   doing    that 
thing.     One   might   have   thought   the   teapots 


A  MILE  OF  RUSSIAN  PILGRIMS 


could  be  stowed  away  with  other  belongings  in 

the    bundles.      But    no ;    they    were    the    one 

possession  that  must  be  carefully  carried  by  hand. 

I  liked  the  resolute  way  those  old  wives  and 

14 


210      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

greybeards  came  trudging  along.  One  instance 
of  individual  pluck  particularly  appealed  to  me. 
In  that  procession  of  pedestrians  a  little  donkey 
figured  conspicuous,  with  a  stout  and  elderly 
dame  upon  its  back ;  it  being  a  natural  inference 
that,  the  old  lady  having  gone  lame,  means  of 
transportation  had  become  necessary. 

Owing  to  the  heat,  she  perchance  had  fallen 
into  a  doze.  At  any  rate,  when  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  our  tents,  she  fell  off  the  donkey — an 
incident  that  caused  a  momentary  stir  among 
sympathetic  compatriots.  But  three  pairs  of 
strong  arms  picked  up  the  old  soul — now  quite 
awake,  and  smiling  apologetically — and  hoisted 
her  back  into  the  saddle  ;  the  little  donkey  then 
proceeding  on  its  way,  apparently  refreshed  by 
its  brief  holiday. 

Those  Russian  peasants  might  be  superstitious 
and  unenlightened — as,  by  our  standards,  no 
doubt  they  were — but  such  shortcomings  were 
more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  obvious 
simplicity  of  nature  and  kindness  of  heart  that 
distinguished  them.  The  frank  and  fraternal 
smiles  they  gave  us  were  convincing  certificates 
to  character.  Here  and  there  one  of  the  veterans 
stepped  across  to  us  and,  doffing  his  cap,  asked 
for  bread — or  so,  at  least,  we  interpreted  the 
petition.  This  caused  us  a  little  embarrass- 
ment. To  give  to  some  would  scarce  have  been 
fair  to  the  others  ;  and  though  I  was  ashamed  of 


Russian  Pilgrims  211 

» 

the  way  our   pampered  luxury  compared  with 

their  deficiencies,  we  could  not  invite  eight 
hundred  guests  to  breakfast.  And  so  we  gently 
shook  our  heads. 

Some  of  their  boots  were  tied  with  string. 
Here  and  there  an  old  fellow's  trousers  bore  a 
conspicuous  patch.  In  that  scattered  multitude 
I  saw  two  men  whose  medals  and  military  caps 
marked  them  out  as  soldiers.  The  last  of  that 
long  procession  was  a  bent  old  woman  who, 
with  the  aid  of  a  stout  walking-stick,  was 
trudging  along  as  cheerfully  as  any. 

Half  a  mile  ahead  of  us  they  settled  down  to 
break  their  fast,  making  a  broad  black  patch  on 
the  side  of  a  mountain.  Soon  we  saw  the  smoke 
of  their  fires  ;  and  it  was  pleasant  to  think  of  all 
those  stout-hearted  old  folk  enjoying  their  rest 
and  their  tea. 

When  the  time  came  for  us  to  take  our 
departure,  we  advanced  by  an  alternative  route, 
and  so  did  not  pass  the  pilgrims  at  close  quarters. 
Under  a  peerless  blue  sky,  we  spent  the  morning 
mounting  barren  heights,  gingerly  descending 
dry  water-courses  strewn  with  boulders,  passing 
along  deep  gorges  overhung  with  crumbling 
rocks — a  country  of  majestic  desolation. 

Midday  found  us  on  a  terrace  track  that  oc- 
curred half-way  up  a  precipitous  slope ;  and 
there,  having  tethered  our  horses  to  some  tree 
trunks,   we    sat    on   mossy   rocks   to  take   our 


in      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

luncheon.  Nor  had  we  commenced  our  meal 
before  we  heard  the  music  of  many  human 
voices  raised  in  song,  it  filling  us  with  wonder 
to  hear  those  pleasant  cadences  in  the  wilder- 
ness. But  the  mystery  was  solved  when  we 
saw  the  Russian  pilgrims  trudge  into  view  on 
the  level  ground  below.  They  were  singing 
hymns.  And  we  saw  many  cross  themselves 
as  they  turned  their  faces  towards  the  sky. 

By  these  new  manifestations  of  a  reverent 
spirit,  the  old  folk  strengthened  their  claim  to 
our  esteem.     But,  alas,  there  is  more  to  tell. 

By  a  coincidence,  the  pilgrims  chose  that 
situation  for  their  halting  ground,  and  so  it 
came  to  pass  that,  while  we  four  were  eating 
our  lunch  up  above,  those  hundreds  were  simi- 
larly engaged  down  below.  They  sat  in  a 
dense  cluster  that  stretched  far  away  to  right 
and  left.  And  there  was  this  difference  be- 
tween those  Russians  and  ourselves  ;  while  we 
had  a  full  view  of  them,  they  obviously  had 
not  noticed  us.  A  further  inequality  was  in- 
volved in  the  shorter  time  they  took  over  their 
simple  food  than  we  devoted  to  our  more 
elaborate  repast.  Wherefore  it  came  about  that 
we  were  still  eating  and  drinking  when  they 
had  given  themselves  up  to  another  occupation. 

My  brother  had  just  peered  over  the  side 
when,  abruptly  withdrawing  his  head,  he  ex- 
claimed in  disgust : 


Russian  Pilgrims  213 

"  Don't  on  any  account  look  down  again  yet, 
or  you  won't  want  another  mouthful." 

Nor  did  he  exaggerate  the  penalty  I  paid  for 
my  immediate  curiosity.  Within  our  view  was 
a  sickening  sight,  which  brought  to  mind  the 
case  of  monkeys.  With  garments  partially 
loosened,  those  poor  afflicted  pilgrims  were  busy 
ridding  themselves  of  vermin.  Solomon — it  is 
but  fair  to  add — was  disposed  to  shift  respon- 
sibility from  Russian  to  Palestine  shoulders. 
He  thought  that  those  travellers,  lacking  tents, 
would  be  likely — under  local  guidance — to  take 
shelter  for  the  night  in  caves  often  occupied  by 
Bedouins,  whose  deplorable  personal  condition 
was  a  matter  of  notoriety.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  pilgrims  were  doing  this  thing  with  a  horrid 
complacency  which,  it  seemed  to  me,  argued 
use.  But  whatever  the  truth  of  the  matter,  we 
lost  no  time  in  riding  away. 

Our  route  lay  at  first  through  beautiful  glens. 
But  the  landscape  came  to  be  more  rugged  and 
rocky  the  farther  we  advanced,  with  vegetation 
dwindling  to  straggling  brown  patches.  We 
found  our  encampment  at  Bethel,  which  stands 
high  among  the  hills,  surrounded  by  a  chaos  of 
stony  sceneiy.     The  sky  above  was  deepest  blue. 

Without  a  word,  Solomon  pointed  to  the 
south,  where  we  descried  the  clustering  build- 
ings of  a  city  far  away. 

It  was  Jerusalem. 


CHAPTER   XV 

Jerusalem 

Eloquent  rocks — Arrival  at  Jerusalem— Greetings  from  tourists — 
A  broken  spell — We  part  from  our  horses — The  hotel  point  of 
view — Discordant  revelry — Visiting  the  bazaars — The  Pool  of 
Hezekiah — In  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre — A  stone 
worn  by  kisses — Weeping  pilgrims  :  a  thrilling  scene — Jews  at 
their  Wailing  Place— The  Mount  of  Olives — In  the  Haram 
enclosure — A  marvellous  system  of  water  storage — The  site  of 
the  Temple — Palatial  shrines  of  Islam — The  Holy  Rock — 
Zion — The  Garden  of  Gethsemane — Lepers  and  venerable 
beggars — Calvary. 

"O IDING   from    Bethel,  we   had   further  ex- 

■"-^     perience   of  a   hilly   country  strewn  with 

stones  and  formed  of  rocks.     Because  of  their 

dress    of   living    green,    most    landscapes   look 

bright  and  moist  and  modern.     This  landscape 

looked  brown  and  dry  and  old.     Yet  it  did  not 

affect  one  with  a  sense  of  sadness  and  desolation. 

Those   parched  hills  of  Judaea  have  their  own 

stern  stamp  of  beauty — a  beauty  not  alone  of 

form  and  colour.     They  are  full  of  the  poetry 

of  exalted  associations. 

We    were    nearing    Jerusalem.      We    were 

214 


Jerusalem  215 

moving  along  the  track  which,  in  all  ages,  has 
been  the  natural  avenue  between  Galilee  and 
the  Holy  City.  Of  that  there  was  confirmation 
in  the  aspect  of  the  rocks  underfoot.  Where 
the  track  crossed  them  they  had  been  worn  by 
the  succession  of  footfalls  that  has  continued 
down  the  centuries — worn  to  a  depression  and 
worn  to  a  polish.  Between  the  present  and  the 
past,  could  there  be  a  physical  link  more 
intimate  and  exact  ?  Of  a  surety,  the  feet  of 
Jesus  have  trodden  those  same  rocks. 

Anon  the  character  of  our  surroundings 
changed.  We  were  upon  an  actual  road — a 
broad,  even,  solid  road.  To  the  right  was  a 
stretch  of  pastoral  land,  where  we  came  upon 
a  herd  of  goats.  Farther  on  we  saw  a  herd  of 
sheep.  Still  a  little  way  farther  and  we  met 
a  company  of  men  and  camels. 

At  a  bend  in  the  road,  our  view  to  the  left 
was  unobstructed,  and  there,  close  at  hand, 
beyond  a  stretch  of  open  land,  lay  a  grey  city 
of  walls,  turrets,  and  domes,  in  close  association 
with  an  isolated  tower  of  a  glaring  blue  that 
offended  the  eye. 

The  foreground  contained  tourists.  I  use 
that  word  advisedly.  Nor  will  I  speak  of  them 
as  fellow-tourists ;  for  my  brother  and  I,  by  this 
time,  were  untidy  enough  to  rank  as  travellers. 
We  first  met  two  charmingly  dressed  English 
ladies  on  donkeys,  attended  by  a  well-groomed 


216      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

elderly  English  gentleman  on  horseback — an 
Englishman  with  an  iron-grey  moustache  ex- 
quisitely curled.  He  drew  our  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  beautiful  afternoon.  A 
minute  later  we  had  that  information  emphati- 
cally confirmed  by  two  Americans  seated  on 
mules. 

Please  do  not  suppose  that  I  object  to  charm- 
ingly dressed  ladies,  aristocratic  Englishmen,  and 
cocksure  Americans.  The  case  is  quite  other- 
wise. But  they  did  not  assist  me  to  realize 
that  I  had  arrived  at  Jerusalem.  Somehow  they 
broke  a  spell  that  had  held  me  since,  fourteen 
days  before,  we  set  out  from  Haifa. 

There  were  plenty  of  other  persons  in  sight. 
The  wilderness  and  primitive  Palestine  had 
become  but  a  memory.  As  we  rode  down  to 
the  Damascus  Gate  I  had  already  begun  to 
think  of  Jerusalem  as — the  word  does  not 
exaggerate  my  disillusionment — a  metropolis. 

Having  entered  the  bustling  city,  we  passed 
along  a  street  of  shops.  Let  it  not  be  supposed 
that  I  write  in  bitterness ;  they  were  unmis- 
takable shops — not  bazaars.  And  presently  we 
came  to  Cook's  office,  where  we  surrendered  our 
horses. 

Humbly  I  patted  my  beast  good-bye.  Our 
parting  was  like  the  end  of  a  dream — a  dream 
in  which,  by  that  fine  creature's  agency,  I  had 
moved    for    many    days    through    a    beautiful 


Jerusalem  217 

wonderland  of  long  ago.  Now  I  was  back  again 
in  the  modern  world ;  and  henceforth  I  should 
go  about  on  foot  in  the  old  familiar  way. 

Once  inside  the  hotel,  the  idea  that  we  were 
at  Jerusalem,  or  anywhere  else  in  Palestine, 
became  unthinkable.  The  people  in  the  lounge 
were  downright  Londoners,  there  were  anti- 
macassars on  the  chairs,  and  The  Daily  Mail 
and  Bradshaw  lay  on  a  side-table. 

Chatting  at  dinner  with  several  elderly  ladies, 
I  made  an  interesting  discovery,  namely,  that 
they  believed  they  were  at  Jerusalem.  And 
Jerusalem,  I  gathered,  was  a  place  where  people 
visit  certain  sights  with  tiresome  dragomans. 
To  do  the  place  thoroughly,  it  seemed,  required 
two  full  days.  But  I  was  warned  that  I  should 
probably  be  disappointed  in  Jerusalem.  Of 
course — as  one  lady  informed  me  in  a  tone  of 
severity — Jerusalem  had  very  solemn  associa- 
tions ;  but  after  London  and  Paris,  and  even 
Cairo,  I  must  be  prepared  to  find  it  sadly 
behind  the  times. 

Dinner  over,  my  brother  and  I  escaped  into 
the  open  air.  A  heavy  gloom  brooded  over  the 
city,  and  but  few  persons  were  astir  in  the 
streets.  Yet  to  one  centre  of  life  we  could  not 
shut  our  eyes  and  ears — a  house  whence  came 
a  shrill  clamour  of  music,  singing,  and  laughter. 

Up  a  few  steps  in  the  frontage,  standing  in 
glaring  lamplight,  was  a  man  who  beat  a  drum 


2i 8      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

and  shouted,  to  invite  persons  into  his  little 
squalid-looking  music-hall.  After  what  the  ladies 
had  said,  this  place  figured  in  my  imagination 
as  modern  Jerusalem's  attempt  to  keep  abreast 
of  the  times ;  and,  returning  to  our  hotel,  we 
took  our  candles  and  went  sorrowfully  to  bed. 

I  have  said  the  worst  I  have  to  say.  More- 
over, the  discerning  reader  will  not  fail  to  note 
that  these  first  impressions  were  affected  by  a 
sense  of  contrast  and  reaction.  Yet  something 
of  our  disappointment  must  be  felt  by  all  sensi- 
tive visitors  to  Jerusalem ;  and  since  the  range 
of  most  visitors  has  unfortunately  been  hitherto 
restricted  to  that  city  and  its  neighbourhood, 
here  we  find  the  explanation  of  current  testi- 
mony which,  as  I  have  earlier  deplored,  fails  to 
credit  the  Holy  Land  with  its  rare  beauties  and 
haunting  charm. 

It  served  in  some  measure  to  revive  our  spirits, 
and  mend  the  broken  thread  of  a  glorious  ex- 
perience, that  next  morning  we  found  Solomon 
awaiting  us  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  even 
though  he  was  now  a  Solomon  on  foot,  with 
his  toilet  brushed  and  smartened  under  urban 
influence.  With  him  we  set  out  to  explore 
Jerusalem.  And  here  I  must  risk  the  inference 
of  hasty  readers  that  I  speak  with  two  voices 
about  the  most  interesting  city  in  the  world. 

We  passed  through  beautiful  time-worn  gate- 
ways into  narrow  bazaars  hung  with  rich  apparel 


BEGGARS  AT  JERUSALEM 


219 


220      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

and  full  of  venerable  Jews  with  wagging  beards — 
a  region  where  at  every  turn  we  had  new  vistas 
of  grand  old  archways  deep  in  shadow,  with 
the  sunshine  gleaming  on  white  walls  beyond. 
We  penetrated  to  the  poorest  Moslem  quarter, 
where,  in  humble  dwellings  of  spotless  cleanli- 
ness, women  kissed  our  hands  on  receiving 
unsought  alms. 

Has  the  reader  ever  formed  a  mental  picture 
of  the  Pool  of  Hezekiah  ?  I  had  not.  In  cities 
of  Holland  one  has  seen  houses  backing  upon 
a  canal,  with  projecting  windows  overhanging 
the  water,  which  laps  the  walls  below.  Conceive 
that  effect  on  all  four  sides  of  a  rectangular 
area — 240  feet  by  144 — and  you  know  what  the 
Pool  of  Hezekiah  looks  like.  Solomon  took  us 
through  an  arched  passage  to  gain  our  view  of 
that  open  reservoir  imprisoned  by  buildings. 
The  water  looked  very  dirty. 

We  went  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
But  this  was  to  isolate  ourselves  temporarily 
from  the  glorious  memories  with  which  Jeru- 
salem exalts  the  mind.  I  hope  I  shall  not  be 
thought  to  pass  judgment  on  those  who  origi- 
nated, or  those  who  sustain,  the  pretensions  of 
that  church.  And,  indeed,  I  am  nowise  quali- 
fied by  any  right  of  personal  scholarship  or  re- 
search to  take  sides  on  debatable  questions  of 
sacred  archaeology.  But  in  that  church  one 
is  shown  sites  and  relics  of  which  the  genuine- 


Jerusalem  in 

ness   is,   as   a   matter    of    common   knowledge, 
denied  by  authoritative  persons. 

Scepticism  in  such  matters  prevents  rever 
ence — nay,  provokes  resentment.  For  in  pro- 
portion as  one  would  be  awed  by  the  true,  one 
is  offended  by  the  false.  And  here  was  even 
our  dragoman  shrugging  his  shoulders  as,  passing 
from  shrine  to  shrine,  from  chapel  to  chapel,  he 
told  of  the  specific  claim  that  each  represented. 

There  must  be,  I  am  sure,  minds  with  a 
sympathetic  range  capable  of  embracing  a  clearer 
understanding  of  these  matters  than  is  possible 
to  me,  who  am  ruled  by  the  thought  that  there 
can  be  no  room  in  religion,  as  there  should  be 
no  room  in  politics  or  the  arts,  for  any  conscious 
deviation  from  truth — from  pure,  brave  truth. 
The  best  explanation  I  can  guess  at  is  that  the 
Greek  and  Latin  Churches,  concerned  more  for 
the  spiritual  than  for  the  intellectual  advance- 
ment of  mankind,  hold  themselves  justified  in 
offering  symbolism  under  a  guise  of  realism. 
And  it  came  about  that,  during  our  stay  in  the 
church,  we  were  to  witness  a  remarkable  scene 
which  illustrated,  and  in  no  unfavourable  light, 
the  working  of  an  ecclesiastical  system  which 
1  may  or  may  not  have  correctly  interpreted. 
Retracing  our  steps  through  the  building,  we 
had  returned  within  sight  of  the  domed  structure 
of  white  and  yellow  stone,  enriched  with  columns 
and   pilasters,   that    contained    the    little    low- 


222      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

pitched  vault  where,  in  the  effulgence  of  forty- 
three  gold  and  silver  lamps,  we  had  seen  the 
cracked  marble  slab  that  is  said  to  cover  the 
actual  rock  on  which  the  body  of  Jesus  lay — 
a  marble  slab  that  has  been  visibly  worn  by  the 
soft  pressure  of  countless  pilgrim  kisses. 

In  contrast  with  the  stillness  that  reigned  in 
that  shrine  when  we  were  there,  was  the  con- 
fusion of  muffled  sounds  now  issuing  from  it. 
Drawing  near  with  instinctive  haste,  we  were 
startled  to  hear  trembling,  piteous  cries  of 
human  anguish. 

But  a  moment  later  we  understood.  For 
from  the  exit  of  the  chamber  there  emerged  a 
succession  of  figures  we  recognized,  by  their 
thick,  warm,  homely  clothing,  as  some  of  our 
Russian  pilgrims.  It  was  one  of  the  old  dames 
who  came  first,  her  mouth  all  in  puckers,  the 
tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks.  A  tottering 
old  man  followed,  wet-eyed  and  sobbing.  Then 
other  men  and  other  women,  with  handkerchiefs 
to  mouth,  coat-sleeves  to  eyes,  clutching  at  one 
another  for  support — all  helpless  under  the  sway 
of  an  overpowering  emotion.  And  from  unseen 
companions  who  had  followed  them  into  the 
little  chamber,  there  still  came  those  distressing 
cries  of  poignant,  present  grief. 

As  a  manifestation  of  religious  fervour,  that 
scene  was  deeply  impressive  in  its  simplicity 
and  sincerity.     But  not  otherwise  could  I  think 


Jerusalem  223 

of  it  than  as  spiritual  light  shining  in  mental 
darkness.  The  discoveries  of  Conder,  Warren, 
and  the  Palestine  Exploration  Society  did  not 
exist  for  those  poor  Russian  peasants.  Worse, 
the  Reformation  did  not  exist  for  them.  In 
a  word,  they  carried  one's  mind  back  to  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  to  the  old  issue  whether 
truth  should  be  determined  by  the  priests  or 
by  the  facts. 

The  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  within 
Jerusalem  (indeed,  that  is  one  ground  for  ques- 
tioning its  claim  to  shelter  Calvary,  which  was 
outside  the  walls)  ;  but  on  leaving  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  I  experienced  a  grateful 
sense  of  re-entering  Jerusalem — of  being  once 
more  in  that  city  which  in  its  entirety  is  endowed 
with  the  glory  of  hallowed  history,  so  that  the 
visitor  does  not  need  to  concentrate  contem- 
plation on  specific  sites  and  stones,  and  may 
reasonably  shrink  from  the  effort  when  the 
authenticity  of  those  specific  sites  and  stones 
is  open  to  doubt. 

To  walk  through  the  most  populous  quarter 
of  Jerusalem  is  to  realize  the  tragic  destiny  of 
one  race  of  mankind — the  race  that  has  survived 
a  world-wide  hatred  and  centuries  of  persecu- 
tion. Christians  and  Mohammedans  in  that 
city  are  numbered  by  thousands,  Jews  by  tens 
of  thousands.  Christians  enjoy  a  full  latitude 
in  their   holy  places.      Mohammedans,   as   the 


2^4      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

rulers,  have  superb  mosques  wherever  they  have 
been  pleased  to  erect  them.  But  for  the  Jews 
there  is  only  a  little  outside  alley  to  localize 
their  heritage  of  glorious  memories.  There, 
every  Friday  since  a  remote  antiquity,  they  have 
besought  Heaven  to  remedy  their  humiliation 
and  their  woes.  Again  and  yet  again  they 
raise  their  voices  in  the  opening  words  of  the 
seventy-ninth  Psalm  :  "  O  God,  the  heathen  are 
come  into  Thine  inheritance ;  Thy  holy  temple 
have  they  defiled ;  they  have  laid  Jerusalem 
on  heaps.  .  .  .  We  are  become  a  reproach  to 
our  neighbours,  a  scorn  and  derision  to  them 
that  are  about  us.  How  long,  Lord  ?  Wilt 
Thou  be  angry  for  ever  ?  " 

It  was  not  on  a  Friday  that  we  passed  through 
the  narrow,  humble  streets  and  came  to  the 
Place  of  Wailing.  But  we  found  there  several 
Jews  weeping  and  uttering  their  piteous  lamen- 
tations. They  spoke  into  the  crevices  of  a  huge 
wall  that  rose  as  a  barrier  between  them  and 
the  site  of  their  Temple  of  old — that  Temple 
of  which  the  great  stones  at  the  base  of  the 
wall  are  believed  to  be  relics. 

The  quivering  petitions  of  those  poor  old 
Jews,  like  the  passionate  grief  of  the  Russian 
pilgrims,  were  as  living  links  between  to-day 
and  the  most  momentous  events  in  the  history 
of  the  world.  After  the  lapse  of  a  long  series  of 
centuries,  here  were  men  shedding   tears    over 


THE  PLACE  OF  WAILING 


225 


15 


226      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

those  things  that  happened  in  ancient  Jerusalem, 
which  has  long  since  melted  into  dust.  In  that 
narrow  outside  alley  I  was  witnessing  a  scene  in 
a  drama  that  had  humanity  for  its  theme  and 
eternity  for  its  scope. 

We  paid  our  half  sovereigns  to  see  what  lay 
on  the  other  side  of  that  wall.  Of  all  areas 
on  the  earth,  the  Haram  enclosure  offers,  I 
imagine,  the  most  impressive  combination  of 
interests.  It  embraces  thirty  -  five  acres  of 
Jerusalem.  From  that  stately  area,  part  pave- 
ment and  part  turf,  with  its  cypress-trees  and 
noble  buildings,  one  can  see  the  Mount  of 
Olives  rising  near  at  hand  to  the  east — a  gentle 
slope  tinted  in  the  sunlight  to  hues  of  tender 
grey,  and  mapped  across  its  surface  with  a  web 
of  white  walls.  Largely  an  artificial  level,  the 
Haram  enclosure  is  arched  and  hollowed  under- 
ground to  an  extent  which  proves,  to  the 
satisfaction  of  modern  authorities,  that  ancient 
Jerusalem  contrived  a  system  of  water  storage 
practically  inexhaustible.  Of  those  subterranean 
reservoirs,  one — the  Great  Sea — has  a  capacity 
of  two  million  gallons. 

But  it  is  as  the  nearly  certain  site  of  Solomon's 
Temple,  and  of  the  Herod  Temple  known  to 
Jesus,  that  the  Haram  enclosure  makes  its  most 
powerful  appeal  to  the  imagination.  On  spots 
deemed  to  be  of  special  sanctity,  Islam  has 
reared    its    palatial    shrines.      The    Mosque   of 


Jerusalem 


227 


Omar,  or  Dome  of  the  Rock,  I  have  somewhere 
seen  described  as  the  world's  most  beautiful 
building.  I  can  merely  think  of  it  as  presenting 
the  most  richly  decorated  interior  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  Mosaic  and  marble  and  gold  can 
presumably  reach  no  higher  triumph  of  gleaming 
splendour  than  is  there  achieved. 


HARAM  ENCLOSURE 


228      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

When  the  slippered  visitor  has  arrived  at  the 
inner  corridor,  his  brain  is  drugged  by  a  sense  of 
overpowering  magnificence  ;  and  thus  the  force 
of  contrast  lends  an  almost  startling  aspect  to  a 
great  bare,  rugged  rock  which,  enclosed  by  an 
ornamental  grille,  occurs  beneath  the  centre  of 
the  dome.  It  is  about  sixty  feet  long,  by  a  width 
somewhat  less,  and  of  an  altitude  that  varies 
from  two  feet  to  six.  Whether  in  the  ancient 
Temple  this  rock  supported  the  Holy  of  Holies 
or  the  Altar  of  Burnt-Offering  is  a  matter  of 
uncertainty. 

Having  visited  the  Dome  of  the  Chain— a 
beautiful  little  building  that  is  said  to  mark  the 
spot  where  David  had  his  throne  of  judgment — 
we  made  a  tour  of  the  Mosque  of  el-Aksa,  and 
descended  into  the  spacious  vaults  known  as 
Solomon's  Stables. 

The  Haram  enclosure  makes  its  lofty  intellectual 
appeal  to  all  Christendom,  as  to  other  vast  sections 
of  mankind.  But  it  provides  some  incidental  dis- 
tress to  persons  nurtured  in  the  mental  freedom 
of  Protestantism.  Hollows  in  the  pavement  of 
the  two  magnificent  mosques  are  indicated,  one 
as  the  footprint  of  Jesus,  another  as  the  footprint 
of  Mahomet,  and  a  third  as  the  handprint  of 
Gabriel.  These  monstrous  trivialities  of  ecclesi- 
astical theatricalism  are  shown  by  Moslems  eager 
for  baksheesh. 

Such    hindrances    to    a    devout    spirit    pass, 


Jerusalem  229 

however,  quickly  out  of  mind.  Wonderful  as 
are  the  buildings,  reverence  is  provoked  not 
merely,  and  not  mainly,  within  their  restricted 
areas.  Jerusalem  and  its  surroundings  form  one 
vast  shrine  open  to  heaven. 

To  ascend  the  gentle  slopes  in  the  Armenian 
quarter  is,  under  sanction  of  authoritative 
opinion,  to  believe  that  one's  feet  are  on  Zion. 
When  your  eyes  and  thoughts  rest  on  the  Mount 
of  Olives,  conspicuous  from  so  many  standpoints, 
there  is  no  element  of  doubt  to  qualify  a  deep 
content.  On  its  lower  slopes  you  see  a  little 
enclosure  where  several  olive-trees  survive  from 
long  ago.  There,  or  somewhere  near,  was  the 
Garden  of  Gethsemane. 

Narrow,  steep,  with  its  arches  of  gloom,  the 
Via  Dolorosa,  stretching  in  a  broken  line  amid 
the  city,  figures  to  the  imagination  as  an  avenue 
of  infinite  sorrow,  though  its  claim  to  a  special 
sanctity  is  affected  by  the  doubts  that  involve 
the  traditional  Holy  Sepulchre.  Some  part  of 
its  mediaeval  reputation  must  now  be  transferred 
to  the  road  that  skirts  Jerusalem. 

Let  me  outline  the  scene  as  we  several  times 
saw  it  while  driving  along  the  east  side  of  the 
city.  On  rising  ground  to  the  left,  venerable 
grey  walls,  broad- based  on  the  solid  rock,  rise 
to  a  height  of  sixty  feet,  and  owe  much  of  their 
majesty  to  grand  old  gateways,  some  sealed  with 
massive  masonry.     The  ground  rises  also  on  the 


230      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

right,  for  the  road  is  in  a  valley — the  Valley  of 
Jehoshaphat.  We  pass  a  long  line  of  piteous 
humanity — lepers,  the  halt,  and  the  aged  poor, 
who  offer  the  testimony  of  their  rags  and  sores 
to  the  eye  of  compassion.  Turning  the  north- 
west corner  of  Jerusalem,  we  still  tread  that 
white  road  which  runs  between  the  city's  bul- 
warks and  dusty  hills  that  are  honeycombed 
with  tombs. 

And  presently  we  pause  to  peer  over  a  wall 
at  an  area  of  neglect  and  weeds,  where  the 
ground  rises  with  precipitous  abruptness.  That 
unlovely  little  hill  is  thought  to  be  Calvary. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea 

Rachel's  Tomb — Bethlehem  and  its  people— The  Church  of  the 
Nativity— Bethany — The  Wilderness  of  Judaea — Inn  of  the 
Good  Samaritan — An  impressive  ravine — Hermits  of  the  pre- 
cipice— Modern  Jericho — A  plague  of  flies — Across  the  gorgeous 
plain — The  Dead  Sea — A  walk  alpng  the  shore — The  reedy 
Jordan — Ancient  Jericho. 


W/E  went  by 
~*  carriage  to 
Bethlehem,  stop- 
ping twice  upon 
the  way — first  at 
a  well,  later  at  a 
shrine. 

The  well  was 
of  the  sort  that 
answers  to  our 
own  acceptance  of  the  word,  with  a  stone  ring 
raised  about  the  mouth.  There  is  poetry  in  the 
conception  which  locates  the  seeing  of  a  star  by 
the  reflection  it  shed  in  water.  The  Wise  Men 
looked  down  into  that  well — such  is  the  beau- 
tiful tradition — and  saw  a  shining  image  of  the 
beacon  in  the  heavens. 

231 


232      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

The  imagination  asks  in  vain  for  a  pillar  to 
mark  the  unchallenged  site  of  Rachel's  tomb. 
What  one  sees  is  a  bare  little  square  building 
roofed   at   one   end   by  a  dome.     We  pursued 
further  our  winding  course  amid  the  hills,  and  soon 
before  us  lay  a  little  city  radiant  in  the  sunshine. 
The  Christian  population   of  Bethlehem  has 
a  marked  individuality,  of  which  the  prevailing 
note  is  brightness,  as  revealed  superficially  by 
touches  of  colour  in  the  native  costumes,  and 
essentially  by  personal  demeanour.     Girls  wear- 
ing white    veils    came    to    our    carriage    with 
carvings  in  mother-of-pearl,  and  other  examples 
of  local  handiwork ;  their  business  overtures,  so 
far   from   having  any  taint  of  whining  impor- 
tunity, being  characterized  by  smiling  alertness 
and  an  engaging  maidenly  dignity. 

Passing  through  the  narrow  streets,  we  came 
upon  a  large  emporium  of  fancy  goods  fashioned 
into  some  analogy  to  sacred  themes ;  so  that,  as 
was  easy  to  see,  modern  Bethlehem  is  awake 
to  commercial  opportunities  presented  by  a 
constant  stream  of  tourists  and  pilgrims.  This 
traffic  in  religious  toys  might  well  prove  dis- 
cordant with  the  spirit  in  which  one  visits 
Bethlehem.  But  the  people  of  that  little  city 
conduct  themselves  with  grace  and  decorum, 
and  I  am  sure  that  they  act  in  this  matter 
innocently  and  with  reverence. 

Stooping,    we    entered    the    Church    of  the 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea       233 

Nativity — the  oldest  and  most  sacred  Christian 
building  in  the  world.  For  it  encloses  a  portion 
of  the  basilica  which,  in  the  year  327,  Con- 
stantine  built  upon  the  birthplace  of  Jesus,  as 
was  attested  by  Jerome  (who  dwelt  within  the 
edifice  soon  after  its  erection),  and  as  is  con- 
firmed by  modern  scholarship.  In  awe  one 
treads  the  spacious  nave  and  aisles,  where 
columns  and  windows  are  black  with  antiquity. 
Reaching  the  choir,  we  found  Greeks  worship- 
ping in  the  chapel  to  the  right,  Armenians  in 
the  chapel  to  the  left.  Our  guide,  a  Roman 
Catholic,  conducted  us  to  the  adjoining  Latin 
Church  of  St.  Catherine,  whence  we  descended, 
by  steps  rough  hewn,  into  a  subterranean  region 
of  supreme  sanctity. 

We  brushed  against  the  solid  rock  in  groping 
along  narrow,  crooked  passa  ges,  which  ccnnect 
several  simple  and  solemn  chambers.  One 
square  vault  was  Jerome's  study,  where  hangs 
an  archaic  painting  that  shows  him  writing. 
Another  vault  contains  his  tomb,  and  the  tombs 
of  Paula  and  Eustachia — mother  and  daughter 
who  were  Jeromes  devoted  disciples.  Finally 
one  reaches  a  cavern  or  grotto  having  a  width 
of  eleven  feet  and  a  length  more  than  thrice 
that  measure.  At  the  eastern  end  is  a  semi- 
circular apse,  where  a  silver  star  in  a  marble 
slab  marks  the  spot  where  Jesus  was  born. 
Doors  in  the  grotto  open  upon  steps  that  lead 


234      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 


10M 


RACHEL'S  TOMB 


to  the  Greek  and  Armenian  chapels  overhead ; 
and  it  is  the  shameful  and  amazing  fact  that 
jealousy  exists  among  the  rival  Christian  sects, 
who  sometimes  defile  those  holy  precincts  by 
engaging  in  bloody  brawls.  Here  and  there 
within  the  building  we  saw  Moslem  soldiers 
stationed — alert,  on  guard,  ready  with  their 
loaded  weapons  to  preserve  the  peace.  That 
Christianity  should  merit  this  standing  rebuke 
from  an  alien  religion,  by  acting  in  contra- 
diction to  itself  at  the  very  fountain-head  of 
the  faith,  makes  one  hang  one's  head  in  bitter 
humiliation. 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea       235 

We  retraced  our  five  miles'  journey  across  the 
beautiful  hills ;  and  next  day  we  set  out  from 
Jerusalem,  again  in  a  carriage,  to  visit  Jericho 
and  the  Dead  Sea.  Crossing  the  lower  slopes 
of  Olivet,  within  two  miles  we  came  to  Bethany 
— a  warren  of  dwarf  stone  buildings  abutting  on 
the  road.  I  saw  a  sparrow  pecking  for  insects 
in  the  crevice  of  a  garden  wall ;  near  at  hand  a 
white  cat  was  sporting  in  a  clump  of  buttercups  ; 
and  we  heard  the  laughing  voices  of  little  girls 
at  play.  These  things  somehow  assisted  me 
to  realize  the  relation  in  which  Bethany  stands 
to  Jerusalem  ;  and  as  we  confronted  that  jumble 
of  white  walls  and  dwellings,  bathed  in  cheerful 
sunshine,  I  found  something  very  human  in  the 
thought  that  Jesus,  during  His  visits  to  the  city, 
made  His  home  in  the  suburbs. 

We  lingered  at  Bethany  to  visit  the  traditional 
home  of  Mary  and  Martha,  which  proved  inter- 
esting as  affording  probable  clues  to  external 
aspects  of  a  dwelling  at  the  time  of  Christ. 
The  people  of  the  village  looked  poor  and 
unenlightened ;  and  we  went  to  and  fro  with  a 
following  of  high-spirited  youngsters,  who,  turn- 
ing a  deaf  ear  to  Solomon's  homilies  on  good 
behaviour,  mingled  appeals  to  our  generosity 
with  reflections   on  our  personal  appearance. 

Having  been  joined  by  a  mounted  soldier 
engaged  to  guard  us,  we  resumed  our  journey 
down  the  winding  road,  which  soon  passed  into 


236      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

a  region  of  hillocks  and  hills — a  strange  region, 
which  puzzled  the  mind  to  account  for  its 
strangeness.  The  explanation  came  with  the 
recollection  that  other  hills  and  hillocks  are 
green.  These  smooth  undulations  were,  for  the 
most  part,  unclothed  by  vegetation.  They 
exhibited  their  naked  geology  to  the  view  ;  the 
crumbling  limestone  showing  various  tints  of 
white  and  grey,  with  large  areas  red  with  iron. 
Only  here  and  there  was  a  sheltered  slope,  where 
a  stretch  of  grass  was  jewelled  with  scarlet 
anemones,  and  poppies  nodded  among  the  mustard 
and  the  daisies.  Elsewhere  it  was  a  sun-scorched 
landscape. 

We  were  in  the  Wilderness  of  Judaea ;  and 
I  had  an  inquisitive  eye  for  such  life  as  might 
be  astir.  Over  all  the  miles  of  our  route  I  saw 
but  one  little  bird,  and  only  two  butterflies. 
Lizards  were  numerous  enough  on  stones  by 
the  roadside,  and  I  caught  sight  of  a  snake  as 
it  wriggled  away  in  affright  at  carriage  wheels. 
Of  tillage  we  saw  no  sign,  save  where  two 
donkeys  drew  a  plough  that  an  old  man  was 
guiding.  On  one  hill  three  camels  showed 
conspicuous  against  the  sky-line,  and  upon  the 
back  of  each  animal,  by  a  droll  coincidence,  a 
couple  of  crows  were  roosting. 

Tradition  locates  the  scene  of  the  Good 
Samaritan's  compassion  ;  and  these  my  brother 
alighted  to  make  a  sketch.     In  the  neighbouring 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea      237 

inn  a  great  profusion  of  Palestine  mementoes 
were  on  sale.  While  we  drank  coffee  in  a 
gallery  of  costumes  and  fancy  goods,  who 
should  come  ambling  in  but  one  of  our  Russian 
pilgrims  ?  Sweeping  off  his  hat  in  courtly 
salutation,  the  merry-hearted  old  fellow  obviously 
accepted  us  on  a  basis  of  established  friendship  ; 
nor  did  an  ignorance  of  English  on  the  one  hand, 
or  of  Russian  on  the  other,  hinder  relations  of 
sustained  cordiality. 

Returning  to  the  carriage,  we  continued  our 
downhill  journey  through  the  parched  realm 
of  grey  and  red,  the  road's  serpentine  course 
figuring  in  perspective  before  us  like  the  lash 
of  a  whip,  with  the  mountains  of  Moab  lying 
beyond  in  a  beautiful  blue  haze.  The  air  was 
hot ;  and  it  grew  hotter,  and  still  hotter.  We 
met  a  diligence  returning  with  fellow-travellers 
from  Jericho :  and  I  chanced  to  notice  an 
accompanying  cloud  of  flies  hovering  about 
their  heads. 

A  bend  in  the  road  brought  us  to  one  of  the 
most  majestic  ravines  I  have  ever  seen.  Peering 
over  the  side,  we  saw  far  below  a  line  of  vivid 
vegetation,  while  the  murmur  of  splashing  water 
came  up  to  us  with  a  grateful  suggestion  of 
refreshing  coolness.  For  by  this  time  the  oppres- 
sive atmosphere  had  dried  my  lips  and  set  my 
flesh  athrob.  It  was  the  Brook  Cherith  that 
made  music  in  our  ears. 


238      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

On  the  other  side  of  the  chasm,  the  jagged 
cliff  rose  perpendicular  to  a  dizzy  height ;  and 
up  there  on  the  face  of  the  precipice  we  espied 
little  walls  and  windows  made  by  man.  It 
lifted  the  mind  out  of  accustomed  channels  to 
think  of  human  beings  dwelling  in  such  elevated 
isolation.  The  holy  hermits  of  those  eyries, 
Solomon  said,  hold  only  such  occasional  com- 
munion with  the  outer  world  as  is  necessary  to 
procure  the  bare  requirements  of  life. 

From  that  point  the  road  descended  steeply, 
and  soon  we  arrived  upon  a  vast  plain.  Dimly 
in  the  surrounding  distance  I  saw  nature  in  a 
new  aspect,  steeped  in  strange  colours  ;  but  the 
hot,  heavy  air  induced  a  mental  lassitude,  and  I 
heeded  only  that  part  of  the  immediate  fore- 
ground to  which  Solomon  called  our  attention. 
There,  it  seemed,  had  stood  the  Jericho  that 
Jesus  knew — now  a  site  level  and  bare  save  for 
some  stumps  of  masonry  that  once  were  towers. 
We  rode  on  to  a  little  group  of  houses  with  a 
background  of  trees  ;  and  half  an  hour  later  we 
sat  down  to  lunch  in  the  hotel  of  modern  Jericho. 
Then  I  had  my  first  experience  of  a  plague  of  flies. 

Tablecloth  and  ceiling  were  black  with  them, 
and  the  intervening  space  was  filled  with  myriads 
on  the  wing.  What  with  the  heat,  and  that 
enveloping  cloud  of  buzzing  insects,  I  am  bound 
to  say  we  did  not  enjoy  our  lunch.  The 
management    seemed    to    have    left    no    stone 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea       239 

unturned  so  far  as  glass  traps,  sticky  paper,  and 
other  expedients  were  concerned.  Moreover, 
behind  us  were  posted  attendants  who  waved 
fans  persistently  about  our  heads.  But  man  is 
powerless  against  hungry,  obstinate,  innumerable 
flies.  Retiring  routed,  and  eager  for  a  wash,  we 
went  upstairs  to  our  bedrooms,  which  proved  to 
be  full  of  mosquitoes. 

But  all  these  discomforts 
were  forgotten  when  pres- 
ently we  were  driving  across 
the  Plain — a  gorgeous,  ma- 
jestic, awful  region.  Con- 
ceive yourself  traversing  a 
vast  arena  many  miles  across, 
hemmed  in  to  right  and  left 
by  mountains,  and  with  an  s^ 
illimitable  view  of  water 
on  ahead.  Conceive  this 
landscape     coloured     in  two  children  at  jericho 

great  streaks  and  patches  with  brilliant,  un- 
expected hues.  The  naked  marls  and  sands 
form  areas  of  dazzling  white,  dull  gold,  shining 
silver,  and  pearly  grey.  The  sea  ahead  is  a  rich, 
velvety  blue.  The  limestone  mountains  stained 
with  iron  are  mammoth  walls  of  alabaster  and 
glowing  red,  save  where  in  the  distance  they 
shimmer  with  luminous  shades  of  mauve  and 
purple.  Nor  is  green  omitted  from  the  variety 
of  colours  flaming  in  the  sunshine.     Turn  your 


240      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

head  and  you  see,  away  to  the  left,  a  vivid, 
verdant  line  that  marks  the  course  of  the 
Jordan. 

Our  carriage  went  jolting  over  the  mounds 
and  hollows  of  that  parched  and  variegated 
ground  ;  and  anon  we  arrived  beside  the  Dead 
Sea,  and  stood  on  its  shelving  beach  of  pebbles. 
There  was  no  wind,  and  a  great  stillness  lay 
upon  the  lonely  waste  of  water.  Some  slight 
wooden  shelters,  with  a  thoughtful  Arab  in 
charge,  stood  beside  the  shore.  No  boat,  or 
buoy,  or  other  sign  of  man,  was  anywhere 
visible. 

Some  writers  have  asserted  that  sentient 
beings  cannot  live  in  the  Dead  Sea,  and  that 
birds  expire  in  the  act  of  flying  over  it.  Such 
was  not  the  fate  of  several  birds  that  essayed  the 
feat  while  we  were  there  ;  and  as  for  the  former 
statement,  did  I  not  see  in  the  water  a  con- 
spicuous creature,  some  six  feet  long,  and  not 
merely  alive,  but  swimming  and  diving  with 
exuberant  vitality  ?  Nor  was  my  enjoyment  of 
a  bathe  in  the  Dead  Sea  one  whit  less  than  my 
brother's.  That  the  water  had  an  unusual 
buoyancy  we  realized  on  trying  to  plunge 
beneath  the  surface — for  the  rest,  it  had  a  taste 
so  salt  as  almost  to  be  bitter,  and  we  came 
ashore  with  a  tingling  sensation  about  our  eyes. 

While  my  brother  was  sketching,  I  went 
alone  to  explore  the  shore.     Along  the  mile  or 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea       241 

so  of  my  walk,  the  beach  was  thickly  strewn 
with  a  brown  litter  of  tree  trunks  and  roots, 
barkless  branches,  and  stout  canes — flotsam  of 
nature.    For  shells  and  dead  fish  I  looked  in  vain. 

My  laborious  tramp  on  the  yielding  stones 
brought  me  at  last  to  the  place  where,  in  a 
leafy  jungle,  the  Jordan  came  pouring  through 
several  channels  to  merge  with  the  sea. 

Wandering  about  the  river  bank,  I  peered 
into  pools  and  eddies,  and  found  the  water 
alive  with  fishes.  Nor  were  they  all  small  fry. 
One  grey  creature,  some  fifteen  inches  long, 
went  splashing  off  at  my  approach.  I  pursued 
him  from  spot  to  spot — for  his  jerky  journey 
through  the  shallows  was  marked  by  cloudy 
trails — but,  coming  to  deeper  water,  he  eluded 
my  further  inquisitiveness. 

Later  I  found  among  the  trees  a  picturesque 
hut  set  on  poles  and  built  of  reeds  and  branches 
— its  occupants  two  swarthy  individuals  whose 
bearing  was  friendly  if  their  words  were  mean- 
ingless to  me.  By  gesture  I  revealed  a  curiosity 
to  learn  the  occasion  of  their  dwelling  in  that 
lonely  delta.  They  were  fishermen,  it  would 
seem ;  for,  conducting  me  to  the  rear  of  that 
strange  abode,  they  pointed  to  a  line  of  their 
captures  that  hung  in  the  sun  to  dry — a  sort 
of  large,  flat-headed  barbel  which,  or  I  was 
much  mistaken,  were  fellows  to  the  fish  I  had 
seen  in  the  water. 

16 


242      A  Journalist  in  the  Holy  Land 

Also  they  showed  me  their  little  boat  moored 
against  the  bank  ;  whereupon,  concerned  not  to 
miss  an  opportunity  to  cruise  on  the  Jordan,  I 
signalled  my  desire  to  be  taken  for  a  row.  Nor 
were  they  slow  to  gratify  the  whim  of  an 
intrusive  stranger  who  could  give  no  account 
of  himself;  and  a  minute  later  I  was  being 
borne  along  the  bosom  of  the  world's  most 
interesting  river.  The  cloudy  water  moved  with 
great  momentum  down  the  reedy  avenue;  so 
that,  perceiving  the  toil  it  cost  my  companions 
to  make  headway  against  the  torrent,  I  early 
directed  them  to  reverse  our  course  and  return 
to  the  bank. 

They  were  Greek  fishermen,  I  afterwards 
learnt  from  Solomon,  and  it  seemed  that  the 
fish  they  catch  are  endowed  by  tradition  with 
a  sacred  significance,  so  that  the  skulls,  em- 
bellished by  crude  paintings,  find  a  sale  among 
visitors  to  Palestine.  As  we  drove  back  to  the 
hotel,  a  new  interest  was  provided  by  the 
flights  of  storks  that  moved  overhead — white 
processions  flashing  against  the  azure  sky. 

Having  dined  under  the  irksome  conditions 
that  prevailed  at  lunch,  we  sat  after  dark  in  the 
garden,  quenching  our  thirst  with  mineral  waters 
of  exorbitant  price,  and  watching  dainty  fire- 
flies flit  among  the  trees. 

Next  morning  we  walked  through  modern 
Jericho,  which  proved  in  the  main  a  collection  of 


Bethlehem  and  the  Dead  Sea      243 

huts  made  with  sticks  and  reeds,  and  occupied 
by  a  primitive  people  scantily  attired  in  rags. 
Journeying  farther  afield,  we  came  to  the 
mounds  and  reservoirs  that  mark  the  site  of 
yet  a  third  Jericho — the  Old  Testament  city. 
Here  we  picked  up  fragments  of  pottery  and 
specimens  of  other  relics  that  Arab  excavations 
had  brought  to  the  surface. 

The  rest  may  be  told  in  a  sentence — we  went 
back  in  the  carriage  to  Jerusalem,  and  by  rail 
I  journeyed  thence  through  orange  groves  to 
Jaffa  and  the  sea.  So  ended  the  most  glorious 
experience  of  my  life,  an  experience  that  can 
never  be  excelled,  and  never  repeated.  For 
there  is  only  one  Palestine,  and  a  second  visit 
would  lack  the  quality  of  a  revelation. 


FINIS 


INDEX 


Acre,  80 

—  bazaars  of,  87 

—  departure  from,  89 

—  harbour  of,  88 

—  prison  of,  87 

—  walls  of,  85 
Alexandria,  1 
Algerian  settlers,  153 
Ali,  36 

American  tourist,  an,  26 
Annunciation  Church,  Nazareth, 

110 
Antiquary,  friendly,  63 
Antiquities,  true  and  false,  186 
Arab  hawker,  7 

—  husbandman,  96 

—  porter,  indignant,  47 

—  singer,  146 

Baby  breadwinner,  a,  197 

Baksheesh,    1 9 

Basins,  rock-cut,  123 

Bath,  a,  133 

Bazaars,  87 

Bedouin  manners,  215 

Beehive,  a,  191 

Bethany,  235 

Bethel,  213 

Bethlehem,  231,  232 

Birds,  104 

Blood-shedding  procession,  41 


Bog,  adventure  in  a,  178   * 
Boy,  purchase  of  a,  declined,  30 
Breakfast,  a  sumptuous,  100 
Buried  treasure,   187 

Cairo,  5,  17 

—  police  of,  40 
Calvary,  230 

Camel-drivers,  friendly,  106 
Camp,  our,  55 
Capernaum,  130 

Card,  a  protecting,  98 
Caterpillars,  105 
Cherith,  237 

Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
220 

—  of  the  Nativity,  233 
Columns,   ancient,   at    Samaria, 

183 
Cook,  Mr.,  3 

Cookery,  a  question  of,  161 
Copping,  Harold,  meeting  with, 

54 

Damascus  Gate,  216 
Dead  Sea,  240 
Dervishes,  the,  34 
"  Ditch  of  Joseph,"  1 76 
Dome  of  the  Chain,  228 
Dragoman,  my,  20 
Drink  question,  the,  157 


245 


246 


Index 


Ebal,   204 

Egyptians,  appearance  of,  6,  13 

Endor,  160 

"  Eye  of  a  needle,"  85 

Falsehood,  a,   164 

Farrier  at  work,  a,  132 

Fish  in  Sea  of  Galilee,  142 

—  in  the  Jordan,  241 

Fisherman,  a  naked,  143 

Fishermen  in  the  Jordan,  241 

"Five  Loaves,"  the,  130 

Flies,  plague  of,  238 

Flowers,  96,  105,  112,  116,  130 

Friend  in  need,  a,  17 

Frogs,  105 

Fuel,  32 

Funeral  procession,  32 

Galilee,  128 
George,  our  waiter,  58 
Geranium,  wild,  168 
Gergesene  cliffs,   130 
Gerizim,  204 
Gethsemane  229 
Grass,  96 
Guard,  our,  62 

Haifa,  54 

Hamman,  133 

Haram  enclosure,  226 

Hermits,  238 

Hermon,  107 

High  Priest  of  the  Samaritans, 

200 
Holy  Land,  arrival,  53 
Horns  of  Hattin,  129 
Horses,  our,  65,  76 
Husbandman  with  a  sickle,  97 
Hussein,  horse  of,  43 
Hyena,  a,  124 
Hyssop,  85 


Issachar,  175 

Jacob's  Well,  204 

Jaffa,  54 

Jealousy  of  Christian  sects,  234 

Jenin,  174 

Jericho,  238,  242 

Jerusalem,  214 

—  hotel  life  at,  217 

—  population  of,  223 
Jews,  tragedy  of  the,  223 
Jezreel,  173 

John    the     Baptist,    tomb     of, 

188 
Jordan,  the,  148 
Judaea,  hills  of,  214 
Justice,  Turkish,  203 
Juveniles,  hostile,  98 

Kefr  Kenna,  114,  116 

—  Sabt,   153 
Kestrels,   156 

Lebonah,  205 
Leper,  a,  108 
Little  Hermon,  169 
Lizards,   108 
Lost  path,  a,  92 
Lubban,  Plain  of,  205 
Lubieh,   120 

—  children  of,  122 

Mahomet,  our  muleteer,  81 

—  his  horsemanship,  90 
Mary's  Well,  108 
Maryetta,  death  of,   137 
Moab,  237 
Moharram,  the,  38 

Moses,  the  place  where  he  was 

found,  33 
Moslem  hostility,  201 
Mosque  of  el  Aksa,  228 


Index 


247 


Mosque  of  Jezzar,  88 

—  of  Omar,  220 
Mosquito  curtains,  60 
Mount  Carmel,  104 

—  Gilboa,  107,  172 

—  of  Olives,  229 

—  Tabor,   160 
Murderers,  87 

Nablus,  195,  199 

—  people  of,  197 
Nain,   168 
Naphtali,  113 
Nazareth,  99,  107 

—  children  of,  108 

—  market  of,    110 

—  welcome  to,  107 
Needlework,  116 
Negroes,  a  family  of,  158 
Nileometer,  the,  33 

Old  Cairo,  33 
Olive  groves,  old,  181 
Oranges,  a  bargain  in,  7 
Orphanage,  Nazareth,  111 

Packing  up,  102 
Passengers,  fellow,  51 
Passports,  59 

Persian  procession,  the,  39 
Photograph-taking,  154,  166 
Pigeon  dish,  a,  161 
Place  of  Wailing,  224 
Plain  of  Dothan,  176 
—  of  Esdraelon,  107,  172,  173 
Poisonous  creatures,  151 
Pool  of  Hezekiah,  220 
Port  Said,  45 
Prison,  87 

Procession,  a  grotesque,  194 
Protestant    school,    Shefa-Amr, 
102 


Pyramids,  the,  18 

—  ascent  of,  22 

—  descent  of,  23 

Rabbi  Abraham  loses  his  wife 

and  daughter,  137 
Rachel's  tomb,  232 
Railway  fares,  5 
Rain,  88,  94 

Rameses  II.,  mummy  of,  33 
Reassuring  message,  a,  98 
Reineh,  113 

—  women  of,  115 
Riding  lessons,  66 
Robbers,  danger  of,  97 
Rodah  Island,  33 
Rose  of  Sharon,  105 
Row  on  the  Nile,  35 
Runaway  ride,  a,  79 
Russian  pilgrims,  206 

Saidna  Hussein,  43 
Samaria,  182 

—  people  of,  184 

—  school  at,  188 
Scenery  of  Egypt,  6 
Schoolmaster,  a  Moslem,  190 
Sea  of  Galilee,  129,  132 

—  bath  in,  142 

—  cruise  on,  140 

—  fish  in,  142 
Sebastiyeh,  182 
Semaleh,  150 
Shadoof,  the,  16 

Sharia   Darb-el-Gedid,    38 
Shechem,   195,   199 
Shefa-Amr,  93,  100 

—  school  at,  102 

—  tombs  at,  104 
Shiites,  43 

—  Moharram  of,   32 
Shunem,^170 


248 


Index 


Shunem  houses  of,  171 
Simon  the  cook,  161 
Sleeping  pavilion,  our,  60 
Snake,  a,  192 
Soldier  guards,  61 

—  fresh,  125,  165 
Solomon,  our  dragoman,  58 
Solomon's  Stables,  228 
Sparrows,  192 

Sphinx,  the,  26 
Spiders,  63 
Stork,  a  captive,  120 
Storm  on  Sea  of  Galilee,  141 
Suez  Canal,  the,  45,  49 
Sugar-cane,  35 
Sweet-water  Canal,  49 
Syrian    village,    appearance    of, 
119 

Tea,  Bedouin,  169 
Tent,  our,  58 
Tiberias,  131 

—  market  place,  132 


Tobacco  bargain,  a,  195 
Tombs  at  Shefa-Amr,  104 
Tourists  at  Jerusalem,  215 
Trespassing,   93 

Unchanging  East,  the,  86 

Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  230 
Vermin,  plague  of,  213 
Via  Dolorosa,  229 
Village,  an  Arab,  30 
Vines,  old,  181 

Waiter,  our,  57 
Wall,  fortified,  85 
Water-carriers,  114 

supply  of  Egypt,  14 

—  tortoises,  153 
Wilderness  of  Judiea,  236 
Wine- presses,  123 

Zebulon,  113 
Zion,  229 


Printed  by  Hazell,  Watson  <fc    Viney,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury. 


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